


Empty Spaces

by ShirleyAnn66



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: F/M, Gen, Murder, Stalking, non-graphic descriptions of murder and stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-03-15 10:15:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 70,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3443465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShirleyAnn66/pseuds/ShirleyAnn66
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alec Hardy leaves Broadchurch and both he and Ellie move on with their lives…until a dangerous predator and unexpected personal danger throw them back together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - Hardy

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Spoilers for season 1 and 2. Angst. Murder and stalking in later chapters but will likely be relatively non-graphic but may be disturbing.
> 
> Pairing: Hardy x Miller eventually, so if that’s not your thing, leave now. :)
> 
> Disclaimers: In case you’re wondering: I don’t own Broadchurch, although I’m rather desperately jonesing for an Alec Hardy of my very own (grumpy bastard that he is). The show belongs to ITV and Alec Hardy belongs to David Tennant, although I’m willing to work out a timeshare arrangement.
> 
> Unbeta’d, all mistakes are my own.

_It’s funny how we feel so much_

_But cannot say a word_

_Though we are screaming inside oh we can’t be heard_

    - I Will Remember You, Sarah McLachlan

~~~~~

“Where to, then, sir?”

Hardy pauses, looking at the little blue shack that has been his sanctuary for the last few months.  He looks out over the town, at the ocean.  The thought flits through his mind that he should go to the beach where they found Danny, to apologize to him, to say good-bye to those looming orange cliffs that dominate everything.

No, he thinks.  He’s already apologized to Danny.  He’s sat beneath those orange cliffs staring at the ocean for long enough.  It’s time to leave the past behind.

He gets in the car.  

“Train station,” he tells the cabbie.

 He doesn’t look back.

 ~~~~

He goes to Sandbrook.  He has some vague idea that he can once more become a daily part of his daughter’s life.  But just as she changed from a little girl into a young woman in his absence, she’s also grown independent, with a busy and robust social life and interests that leave little room for him.

Tess, well, there’s no future there, and if Hardy’s honest with himself, he accepted that long ago.  What he told her before the surgery was true:  he did miss her, miss the family they once had, or he thought they had, but she’s right.  It’s over. The betrayal still stings, but he knows he bears the burden of the collapse of his marriage just as much as she does.  She fell out of love with him, and he didn’t know how to stop it.

He keeps hearing Miller tell him he’s wrong, that they aren’t all alone.  A week after he left Broadchurch, on the night he admits to himself there’s no place for him in Sandbrook, he thinks he should text her, send a message that says something like, “you at least are not alone and I’m glad about that.”

He doesn’t.

There’s been no word from her either.

 ~~~~~

He takes Daisy to lunch, tells her he needs to find a job, and it won’t be in Sandbrook.  She is not surprised.

“Well, nobody’s going to hire you looking like that,” she says, and takes him shopping and then to the barber’s where his hair gets cut and his beard shaved off.

He feels naked and exposed, but Daisy beams, and says, “There’s my dad!”

He smiles at that and hugs her.  He keeps his arm around her as they walk out of the barber shop, holding her close to his side.

 ~~~~~

The press have a field day with the Sandbrook case and Hardy lets Tess and the Sandbrook constabulary deal with the endless questions and news reports.  Solving the case had never been about saving his reputation or career; it had been about getting answers for the families and justice for Lisa and poor wee Pippa.

He suspects the frenzy and the stories that spread through the policing community help him get a job, though, because four weeks after he left Broadchurch he takes up his new position as DI in a city almost exactly half-way between Sandbrook and Broadchurch.  He finds it oddly fitting that he’s teetered so perfectly between the two places that have had so much impact on his life.

 ~~~~~

Slipping back into the routine of police work is like putting on a well-worn pair of shoes.  Stonebridge is bigger than both Broadchurch and Sandbrook combined and he easily disappears into the crowd of cops dealing with all of the problems of a large city.  The work is something he understands, something he does well, and it’s a relief to return to it even if the volume and type of crimes is a bit of a shock after the worlds he’s occupied for the last twenty years.

He thinks about sending Miller a message, telling her where he ended up, but thinks better of it.  They said their good-byes in that little blue shack and that’s where she obviously wanted it to end.

She doesn’t send him any messages either.

 ~~~~~

He’s in the job for four months when, through the windows of his office, he catches a glimpse of an unruly mop of dark curly hair and a familiar slope to shoulders in a dark jacket.  His breath catches in his throat and he’s at his office door before he realizes he’s moving.

The woman turns and he deflates.  She’s younger, with a rounder face and slightly slimmer build.  Her clothes and makeup are a bit more chic, but she has a similar wide, open smile. She notices him standing there and turns fully to look at him.  He sees her eyes are blue, not brown as her smile turns both puzzled and nervous when she meets his wide eyed stare.

His reputation is already legendary.

He gives her an awkward nod then bows his head as he returns to his desk, moving almost as slowly as he had before his surgery. He falls into the chair and pulls out his phone.  He stares at her name, his thumb hovering over it.

For God’s sake, he thinks with sudden fury, they worked closely together on two intense, life altering cases, shared secrets and pain that no one else will ever truly know or understand.  He should at least send her a bloody text to let her know where he is and that he’s all right.

He glances up as the curly haired young woman walks past his office door.  There’s an innocence to her that he remembers watching disappear from a different face, in a different police station.  She looks at him then skitters away as their eyes meet.  He watches her leave the squad room before easing his thumb away from Miller’s name.  He carefully sets the phone on his desk.

He scrubs hands over clean-shaven cheeks that still feel alien, runs fingers through hair that still feels too short, blinks the emotion out of his eyes, and goes back to work.


	2. Prologue - Ellie

_I’m so afraid to love you_

_But more afraid to lose_

_Clinging to a past that doesn’t let me choose_

     - I Will Remember You - Sarah McLachlan

~~~~~

Ellie doesn’t really think about Hardy all that often.  When she does, tears spring to her eyes and she feels his firm grip on her hand as they say good-bye.  She assumes he’s in Sandbrook, reconnecting with his daughter, although she can’t really picture him casually interacting with a teenager, let alone a teenage girl.  The very idea makes her smile a little.

No, she’s too busy with the boys, commuting to her job in Devon, and spending time with Beth and her family.  She and Tom continue painting the house, and it’s slowly becoming a home.  She’s learning how to incorporate the past into their present and future, and by working together she and Tom and Fred will figure everything out, as a family.

As for her career, she knows she’s now ready to move on from being a traffic cop.  Working on Sandbrook showed her she could still be a detective, and she wants to work in Broadchurch again, in her community.  She wants to truly come home.  It will be better for the boys, too, if she doesn’t have to commute so far each day.  It means less time at the childminder’s or Lucy’s or Beth’s.

Every now and then she passes the bridge that leads to the little blue shack.  When she does, she almost smiles and thinks she should text him.  See where he is.

She always walks past and doesn’t reach for her phone.

~~~~~

Three weeks after the acquittal, after Sandbrook, she meets with the Chief Superintendent.  Asks if there’s a spot for her.

That woman smiles and offers her the DI position Ellie had been promised before she’d gone to Florida.  Before everything fell apart.

She pales a little.  Asks to think about it and goes walking to clear her head.

She ends up on the beach where they found Danny and she stares at the site for what feels like days.

She wants to come home, she wants to _be_ home.  She wants to work as a detective again.  But can she?  Can she truly be a DI here, in Broadchurch, where her beautiful, perfect, happy life went to shite.  While things are calmer, they’re far from better, far from normal, whatever normal may now mean.  Tom still has his moments when he resents her, resents all of them, for sending Joe away.  Mostly, though, it seems he grew into a man overnight and not simply because he’s become so tall.  Fred, thankfully, doesn’t seem to remember his father at all anymore. 

Always, hanging over everything, is the spectre of Joe.  Not simply her memories of him, of her supposedly happy marriage, of the loving man he’d been to her.  Now there’s the fear he’ll come back.  He was acquitted, after all.  They still have to be divorced.  He was a stay-at-home dad for the last eighteen months of their marriage.  She wonders if a court would order her to pay him alimony, if it would grant him visitation rights or worse:  custody.  She wonders if she will someday have to take the boys and run.

She’s already planning for it.

But until she has to face that demon, if she ever has to face that demon, she wants to build a home.  Can she do it as a Detective Inspector?  Here, where it all fell apart?

She pulls out her phone and looks at it.  She finds Hardy’s name and stares at it, already hearing his Scottish burr, his clipped voice.  She shakes her head and puts the phone away.

She doesn’t know what he could tell her that she’s not already saying to herself.  It’s not like he’s ever been a great source of advice or support and he seems to be biologically incapable of sugar-coating anything.  Shitty company indeed.  Besides, it’s not like he’s even bothered to tell her where he is.

Anyway, she doesn’t need him to tell her what she already knows.

~~~~~

A week later, Ellie walks back into the Broadchurch police station as their new Detective Inspector.

Her past and future colleagues stand and applaud, and she smiles and blinks back tears then hugs each and every one of them.

She walks into the office and stops, half expecting to see Hardy there, crouched over the desk, glasses perched on his nose as he glares at the computer screen, willing it to give him the answers he needs.  It’s silly, really.  It’s been almost a year since Danny died, and there’s been at least two other DIs since that horrible day.  The office bears no trace of him outside her memories, and for a moment that makes Ellie sad.

She shakes it off, because the bloody man has no one to blame but himself.  She, too, is alone, but unlike him, she wants to connect with people.  She craves it.  She won’t be alone forever.  She’ll love again, marry again, be fully happy again.  If he stays alone and miserable, it’s his own damn fault.

She moves forward with a jerk, because she’s suddenly aware she must look ridiculous standing there, staring at the desk like it’s going to bite her.  She settles on the chair, smiles and waves at those watching outside her door before they, too, return to their desks and go to work.

She slowly smooths her hands across the surface of the desk then pulls out her phone.

She should at least send him a message.  Something like “guess who finally got the job you stole out from under me you wanker” or something much more witty and sarcastic.  Definitely not anything as stupid as “are you all right?” or even “where are you?”

She puts the phone on the desk with a scowl.

They said good-bye and he left.  That’s the end of it.  She misses him only because he took over her life and made her spend so much time with him.  It’s like missing a sore tooth:  overwhelming while it’s there; an odd empty space once it’s gone.  Then you get used to it.  He’s a grown man, for God’s sake, if he wants her to know where he is, he can text or call.

Besides, it’s not like she really misses him.  She’s just thinking about him because it’s her first day back and her first day in the job he stole.

She powers on the computer.  She has work to do and a life to piece back together.  


	3. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Non-graphic descriptions of a dead body and a crime scene. Factual descriptions, like something you'd hear in a true crime documentary.

Hardy

Six months after leaving Broadchurch, Hardy’s still, ultimately, alone.  He’s content enough, and possibly even happy in some ways.  He feels better than he has in years, he’s regained his passion for the work, and he has a spring in his step and a spark in his eyes that has been sorely lacking for far too long.

He’s come to a prickly understanding with the Detective Constables, Detective Sergeants and others he works with, but there’s still a vast distance between them.  All their cases so far have been easily solved, so the comradery that’s created under the pressure to break a case has so far eluded them.  He’s all right with that.  Even after six months, the Miller-shaped empty space in his professional life is still too open, too fresh, too sore.  He’ll find someone else who can work with him like that; Miller wasn’t the first, she won’t be the last.  He rotates through his DSs with each new case as it arises, looking for that special something that means the working relationship is going to be better than average.  So far, no luck, but he recently took on some new DSs, including the Miller look-alike who had so startled him a month or two ago.  He’s been reluctant to work with her but knows if he doesn’t, the others will talk.  He’s kept her ‘til last, but the next case he catches will have to be hers.

He’s at least doling out the pain in equal measure, or so he’s heard his DSs say when they think he’s not paying attention.  They say a lot of things when they think he’s not listening, and there are a couple who could give Miller a run for her money in terms of the creativity of the insults directed towards him.  She’s still the only one brave enough to say them to his face.

He drives to Sandbrook every weekend Daisy is free and she’s come to Stonebridge a time or two.  He takes the time to talk to her or her voice mail every day.  He can sometimes hear the puzzlement in her voice, and he’s waiting for the moment she explodes and asks why he’s making such an effort now when he’d been so distant for so long.  He knows she continues to harbor some simmering resentment about the breakup of their family.  She still doesn’t know the whole truth, and he hopes she never does.

Beyond his days at work and his time with Daisy, he has no human interaction.  There are no invitations to dinner, friendly or threatening or otherwise, and when his officers leave at the end of the day, they barely acknowledge he’s still at his desk.  That suits him fine, most of the time, but even he sometimes needs conversation that doesn’t revolve around murder and suspects, evidence and witnesses.

During one of his evening strolls he finds a pub beside an upscale hotel near the centre of town and has made it 'his'.  He sits at the bar and listens to the talk and laughter around him while he nurses a single beer.  He leaves when he’s done, and it’s enough.  He's become a bit of a regular, going in at least once or twice a week.  He only speaks to order his beer and the bartenders soon get to the point where he doesn’t even need to do that.

Tonight there’s someone new working the bar and he has to give her his drink order twice before she catches it, but she has a sweetly apologetic smile and he gives her a small one in return.  He nods his thanks as she places the mug in front of him.  He’s listening to the blessedly ordinary conversations around him when he’s startled by a woman sliding onto the chair beside him.

She gives him an appreciative smile as she meets his gaze.  She’s attractive, with shoulder length brown hair and impeccable makeup.  Her clothes are off-the-rack and a little too suggestive to be appropriate for a pub like this and there’s a certain seductiveness in her posture that sets alarms bells ringing in his head.

“Buy me a drink?” she purrs.

He considers her thoughtfully, one eyebrow lifted high, then signals the bartender.

“Whatever the lady wants,” he says, indicating his new-found friend.

The bartender’s sweet smile is nowhere in sight, and the look in her eyes as she quickly glances at the woman then to him and away again says more than words ever could.

He turns to the woman and wracks his brain for a conversation starter.  If his hunch is correct, however, she’ll likely take care of it for him.

“What’s your name?” she asks with a smile, leaning closer and showing him a discreet flash of cleavage.  His eyebrow rises higher, if for no other reason than he can’t remember the last time a woman deliberately showed him her cleavage.

“Alec.”

“Alec,” she says.  “Alec.  I like that name.  I’m Missy.”

He shakes the proffered hand.  “Why’d you come over here, Missy?”  He sounds like a stern father and the thought amuses even him, and he smiles a little.

“I see you in here quite often,” she says.  “Always alone.  I thought you could use a little company.”

She sounds and looks sincere, the deliberate seductiveness no longer anywhere in sight.  Hardy hesitates.  Perhaps he’s read her wrong.  Perhaps he’s become so used to being invisible to women that he can’t tell when someone is sincerely interested in him.

She puts one delicate hand on his forearm.  “Would you?  Like some company, I mean.  It’s worth the investment, I promise.”  She looks at him with wide, soulful green eyes.

He gets a sudden flash of Claire Ripley’s face and hides a shudder.

He notices the bartender watching them with a disgusted expression before he turns back to Missy.  “What kind of investment?” he asks.

“A little time, a little effort, a little...” She shrugs and smiles.  “We can work something out.”

He gives her a blank stare then smiles a genuine smile.  Her own smile widens as he digs out his wallet.

It quickly disappears when he shows her his police ID.

She gasps, and slides off the stool.

Hardy grabs her arm.  “Na, na, na, not so fast.”

Her wide eyes flick to his, and he realizes she’s much younger than she first appeared, no more than twenty-five.

“Don’t worry,” he says, “I’m not running you to the nick.”

A cynically resigned look flashes across her face as he guides her back to her seat and Hardy wonders how many coppers she’s run into who have been abusing their authority.

“Have you eaten today?” he asks.

She laughs, a harsh cynical bark of sound.  “What’s this?  What?  Are you trying to be kind?  Why?  You trying to save me with tea and sympathy?”

He rolls his eyes.  “Would you prefer I run you in?”

She glares, all pretense at seduction gone now.  “Yes,” she bites out, “I’ve eaten today.”

“How old are you?”

“None of your business.”

“Where’re you from?  How long have you been doing this?”

“None of your damn business.”

She’s defiant now that she thinks she knows how this is going to end.  Judging from the glare the bartender is shooting his way, that lady also thinks she knows how this is going to end.

Hardy persists, though a part of him wonders what the fuck he’s doing.  He realizes, this is the longest conversation he’s had with a woman that hasn’t been about work since he left Broadchurch. He’s not sure if he’s appalled by that fact or simply resigned to it.

“Are you working for yourself or someone else?” he asks.  She doesn’t respond.  “What are you doing here?  I’ve been coming here for weeks now, and I’ve never noticed you before.”

“I’m not saying anything else to you.”

He sighs.  “Fine.  Go on, finish your drink, then you can go.  Do you need money for cab fare?”  He grimaces.  He still has an unfortunate desire to rescue women, something he’d thought he’d gotten rid of after everything that happened with Sandbrook.  He was obviously mistaken.

Her mouth is a sullen line.  “No.”

“Fine,” he says again, and turns back to the bar.  He meets the bartender’s angry eyes and stares impassively back until she flushes and turns away.

Missy leaves, and he stays to finish his drink and settle the bill without speaking another word to the bartender, whose disapproval is tempered somewhat by confusion.  As he strolls back to his flat, he fishes the phone out of his pocket and scrolls to Miller’s name.  He ponders the call button before putting the phone away again.

He can already hear her laughing at him; he doesn’t really need to hear it in real life.

~~~~~

He walks into his flat, flicks on the light and pauses on the threshold.  His eyes scan the room, and he wonders what it is that feels... _different_.  He frowns and listens intently, but there’s nothing but silence.  He shrugs.

His encounter with Missy and the bartender’s contempt must have bothered him more than he realized.

~~~~~

That night, he dreams about drowning.

~~~~~

Ellie

Ellie goes on her first official date six months after Hardy left Broadchurch.

She means six months after Joe was exiled from Broadchurch.  Hardy’s departure has nothing to do with anything.

She wonders why she’s even thinking about him while she’s smiling and pretending to listen to the man across the table ramble on about...something she lost track of ten minutes ago.  She supposes it would be rude to simply interrupt him, although all she really wants to do is tell him to either get to the bloody point already or shut the fuck up because he’s making her head hurt.

Ah, _that_ _’_ _s_ why Hardy’s on her mind:  those last thoughts had gone through her head in a strong Scottish accent, accompanied by the memory of his look of sheer disgust at having to deal with this horseshit at all.  She bites back a laugh and tries to refocus on her date’s stream of consciousness conversation, but it’s useless.  Thankfully, her companion doesn’t seem to need anything more than a smile, a murmur and a nod once in a while.  She decides to make it through dinner, then polite good-byes and perhaps give the friend who arranged this meeting a stern talking to about the kind of men she might be interested in. 

There is definitely no sex in the near future, and she has a sudden, cringe-inducing memory of the night she and Claire went out in Weymouth and the unfortunate shag at the end of it.  She hides a shudder, then thinks her companion wouldn’t notice anything amiss even if her head started spinning round.

Her date is surprisingly difficult to shake in the parking lot, demanding at least a kiss in thanks for the meal if she wasn’t going to go back to his place, or take him to hers.  She smiles through her teeth, reminds him what she does for a living, and firmly shakes his hand with finality.

She drives home in a cloud of disappointment mixed, surprisingly enough, with relief.  Relief the wretched thing was over, and, if she was honest, relief they hadn’t hit it off.  Maybe she’s not as ready to move on from Joe as she’d thought, although it isn’t really Joe’s face that keeps hovering in her memory.

She quietly lets herself into the house, sees Ollie is asleep on the sofa then goes upstairs to check on the boys.  She smiles as she watches them sleep before tiptoeing back downstairs to the kitchen.  She opens the fridge and surveys its contents without pleasure.  She’s not hungry, but she feels restless, unsettled, and she knows she’s not going to sleep any time soon.  She finally decides on a glass of milk, just for something to do.  She carries it to her room and gets ready for bed.  She settles under the covers, sips her milk and reaches for the phone. 

She finds Hardy’s name, and considers texting him.  Something like “never realized how much I appreciated a silent man until my date tonight.”  She imagines the sour and confused look on his face if she sent him such a message, because Hardy’s ability to relate to anyone on a personal level is practically non-existent.  But he might say or do something rather amusing to take her mind off the disaster of the night.  Most likely he’d say something completely clichéd or unsupportive and she’d get angry and snap some insult at him, releasing all of her anger and unhappiness and loneliness with one word or phrase in his general direction.

And the world would feel right again, which is stupid, because really, they only worked together for what?  Six months, at most.  On two of the most intense investigations she hopes she’ll ever experience, resulting in devastation and redemption and justice...or lack thereof.  She regained her family and friends, her career and her community, while Hardy...

Set off alone, searching for a home.

The thought makes her scowl, and she slaps the phone down on the bedside table.

It’s not like the stubborn sod has gotten in touch with her.  Besides, they said their good-byes in that little blue shack and that’s the end of it.  Wherever he is, she’s sure he’s making life miserable for some poor, unsuspecting DS, barking orders, making them work night and day, and demanding they explain the point of their existence.  Driving them harder than they’ve ever been driven before, demanding better than their best, and grudgingly earning their respect just as they will grudgingly earn his.

For some reason, that makes her scowl even more.

She finishes her milk and turns out the light then stares at the darkened ceiling waiting for sleep.

~~~~~

Hardy

The day after Hardy’s encounter with Missy, there’s a call out down to the river.  The area looks so similar to where he found Pippa that he pauses, feeling the water closing over his head, the phantom weight of her in his arms.  He closes his eyes, rides it out then continues walking to where a couple of his Detective Constables and SOCO technicians are surrounding what he wishes was a pile of discarded clothing.

Sal Edwards meets him. She’s the fresh-faced Miller look-alike Detective Sergeant he’s been avoiding working with in the six weeks since she transferred to his squad.  As a result, she still isn’t over her terror of him, as evidenced by the trepidation on her face.  Looking more closely at her now, he sees her resemblance to Miller is superficial at best, but there’s still a familiar air of open innocence about her that Hardy wishes he could protect.  Miller’s had gradually dimmed during the investigation into Danny Latimer’s death, and he himself had shattered it when he told her about Joe.

But Miller is a two and a half hour drive and six months in the past and he has a different DS in front of him and a new crime scene to investigate.

“What have we got?” he says, a bit more brusquely than he intended as they get closer to the site.

She swallows heavily and he suspects she’s already vomited a couple of times before his arrival.  So long as she hasn’t contaminated the crime scene, Hardy’s prepared to be understanding.

He stops at the perimeter and watches the activity.  He turns impatiently to Sal and finds her staring at the crime scene with a devastated expression.  He waits and she glances at him, and she jumps a little when she realizes he’s watching her with an eyebrow raised in expectation.

She gulps and begins speaking rapidly, eyes wide as the words trip over themselves off her tongue.

“Female, early to mid-twenties, from what we can tell.”  Hardy’s eyes narrow.  “She’s been here a few days,” she adds quickly.  “Caucasian.  Partially nude.  The post-mortem will confirm but there appear to be multiple stab-wounds and what looks like ligature marks around her wrists and ankles.”

“Any identification on the body?”

“None found yet, but SOCO’s only started gathering evidence.  There’s some clothing nearby, so...” she trails off as she looks again towards the body.

Hardy notices the sudden sweat on her forehead, the green sheen to her skin and he quickly spins her around and frog marches her to a tree that he believes is far enough away.  Just in time, too, because she’s already gagging even as they get there.

“I’ll be back at the scene when you’re finished,” he says with a note of sympathy she likely can’t hear over her own retching.

He grimaces, then returns to his spot.  The chief SOCO technician walks to him.

“No ID on the body, sir,” he says.  “She does have a tattoo on her right hipbone.  A small dragon.  Nothing really unique enough about it to track down the artist, though.”  He glances down at the tattoos showing beneath the sleeves of his own shirt and Hardy absently nods.

“At least it’s something.  Think she was killed here?”

“Doubtful.  We’re still processing, so things could change, and she’s obviously been here for several days, but preliminary examination of the scene shows this is most likely just the dump site.  Not enough blood evident in the vicinity for this to be the place where the wounds were inflicted.  She would have bled profusely.  That’ll be confirmed once the soil samples are analyzed.”

Hardy swallows and almost envies Sal’s ability to vomit.  He glances over as she returns to his side, looking a little shaky and wiping a hand over her mouth.

She clears her throat and it sounds sore and thick with phlegm.

“Long way to walk with a body,” she croaks.

The SOCO technician nods.  “We’re scouting the area, checking for roads or trails the killer may have used.”

Hardy nods.  “Awright,” he says and turns away.

“Where do we start?” Sal asks, almost tripping as she tries to keep up.

Hardy despairs of the new detective.

“Check missing persons reports.  See if anyone matches the description of our victim.  She’s been here for a few days, somebody should have noticed she was gone by now.”

“Unless the killer is the one who should have noticed,” Sal says.

Hardy’s hopes for her rise again and he gives her a small smile and a nod.  Her eyes widen and her jaw drops and he thinks he’s obviously just as miserable a wanker in Stonebridge as he’d been in Broadchurch and Sandbrook if a simple almost-smile is enough to shock his DS.

“She has a dragon tattoo on her right hipbone,” he says.  “That will hopefully help to identify her.”

She nods eagerly and follows him back to the road.

~~~~~

The victim is quickly identified as Marney, a street prostitute plying her trade along the street the cops call Tom Avenue.  Her fellow sex workers reluctantly direct them to her room in a rooming house not far from the area of the street she patrolled every night. 

Once SOCO is finished, Hardy stands on the threshold of her room and looks in.  He can see everything but he ducks beneath the yellow crime tape anyway and stands in the middle of the space.

It’s pitifully bare, showing little evidence of the woman who had lived there, of the person she’d been before turning to the streets, of the person she’d become after.  No one they’ve spoken with knows who she was before she arrived in Stonebridge, or if they do, they’re not talking. 

He turns in a slow circle, inspecting everything in the room. It’s spotlessly clean, much cleaner than the hallway or the rest of the house he’s seen, and the bed is tidily made up.  He turns a picture that’s facing the bed with a gloved hand and sees the beaming face of the victim with sweat-soaked hair plastered to her forehead, sitting in a hospital bed holding a newborn baby.

His lips twist.

Of course there’d be a baby somewhere, he thinks, because what happened to the poor woman isn’t nearly bad enough.

He leaves and goes back to the station, bowed with the knowledge that crimes like this are notoriously difficult to solve.  Their only hope is if she knew her killer.

~~~~~

As expected, the case quickly goes cold, and the case is put to the bottom of the pile.

Stonebridge doesn’t have a high homicide rate, but there’s definitely more activity than in Sandbrook and much more than in Broadchurch.  It doesn’t make Hardy feel any better that Marney’s case so quickly runs out of leads and becomes all but forgotten.

Until the second body is found three weeks later.

And the third two weeks after that.

~~~~~


	4. Chapter Two

Hardy

Hardy pushes his team to their limits.

Three bodies in five weeks, no leads, and forensics trickling in too slowly for his liking and his patience.  They’ve at least managed to identify the other two victims, also prostitutes, and have notified their families, but Marney’s original identity remains unknown.  Hardy’s hopes for some kind of physical evidence, something they can point to and say ‘this will, without a doubt, identify the killer’, are fading fast.

He’s consulted with those DIs in Stonebridge’s Crime Investigation Division who have worked more in vice than in homicide.  He’s hoping there’s somebody on the force who has already built a rapport with the sex worker community, someone they already trust, someone who gives them enough comfort to give information that could save their lives or the lives of others on the street.  There either isn't anyone, or there simply are no witnesses.

His DSs are becoming frustrated with him but mostly with the case.  Murders committed by strangers are notoriously difficult to solve, and murders of prostitutes even more so.  Hardy suspects the perpetrator is more familiar to the women than they realize, but appears harmless and most likely is, most of the time.

Until something triggers him.  Until something tells him it’s time to kill again.

The victims were found within five weeks, but that’s not how long they’ve been dead.  The last victim found is the oldest (Patricia Randall, 23, reported missing September 2012.  Last seen on Tom Avenue approximately 2:00 a.m.  No one saw what vehicle she got into, or who she went with.  Originally from Liverpool, with the usual tragic story:  drug addiction spiralling out of control, brought to Stonebridge by a boyfriend who was also a drug addict and he was the one to report her missing.)  The second victim is next (Laura Drysdale, 25, reported missing June 2014, last seen on Tom Avenue approximately 1:30 a.m.  No one saw the vehicle or person she left with.  Originally from Sheffield, a runaway at fifteen who turned to the street to survive and to drugs to cope.)

Then Marney, of course (original identity:  unknown).  Last seen on Tom Avenue at approximately 1:00 a.m. six weeks before and counting.

Hardy hopes that a time span of just over two years is all he has to worry about.

He drives himself even more than he pushes his team.  He knows he’s sinking into that whirlpool of obsessive focus that almost killed him during Sandbrook and took him to the brink with Danny Latimer, and he's just as helpless to stop himself.  He works late into the night, poring over everything his team has pulled together, all the forensics which have come in so far.  The paucity of information only adds to his frustration and frays his temper as the late night cleaning staff learned.  The cleaning lady still gingerly tiptoes around him and scurries away with her face averted.  In his defense, he hadn’t realized she was there until she’d screamed when the coffee cup shattered against the wall.

When he isn’t poring over the evidence, he goes back to where Marney was found and walks from there to where they found Patricia and then to where they found Laura.  He explores the river banks, searching for similar sites that may be potential dumping grounds.

Those are the nights he dreams of Pippa and the water and wakes up shaking, gasping and soaked with sweat.

He regularly sends his DCs out to tramp along the river bank, and sends his DSs out to canvas the women on Tom Avenue.  He keeps Sal running, chasing any leads or ideas he can think of.  He knows he’s pushing everyone hard, perhaps too hard, but a serial killer who isn’t caught or stopped by some other means just keeps killing.  With Marney’s murder now six weeks old, he knows it’s only a matter of time before the call comes in that another body’s been found.

Being a copper in a serial killer’s hunting ground isn’t something he ever thought to experience, and truly wishes he wasn’t experiencing it now.

~~~~~

Three weeks after Patricia Randall’s body is discovered, one of his DSs reaches his breaking point at their daily briefing, as Hardy is once again telling them to canvas for witnesses.

“For God’s sake,” the man explodes, “they’re just a bunch of slags!  We’ve gone out to Tom Avenue at least once a week since the bodies started showing up, and they’re not going to talk!  We’ve done all we can, and we’ve got other cases to work on!”

Everyone stills in sudden, tense silence as Hardy turns fiery eyes in a grim face towards the man.  He prowls closer to - Ron? Tom? - and his Scottish burr is thick as he growls, “You don’t ever speak about these women like that again.  They were human beings, not garbage to thrown away by the side of a river!  They had families, lives, and somebody, somewhere, who loved them.  For that reason alone, they deserve our respect and for us to do more than our best to find their killer and bring him to justice!”

He pauses, nostrils flaring as he sucks in a deep breath. 

“There are going to be more bodies and they’re going to be here, on our watch, and I won’t let him get away with it!  He’s still out there, and we--I--won’t stop until we’ve got him.  You don’t feel the same way, I’ll have you moved off my team by the end of the day!” 

He turns to the others staring with wide eyes, watching him like they expect his head to start spinning round at any moment. 

“And the same goes for the lot of you!  Anyone wants off this case, and off my team, leave your name on my desk.  I’ll shift you out, too.”

He presses his lips together, and glares at the silent crowd looking back at him.  Sal’s eyes are so wide he actually thinks her eyes really will pop out of their sockets.  He shakes his head, turns his back and slams the door behind him as he stalks into his office.

He collapses into his chair and rubs his face with shaking hands.

He never thought he’d miss Broadchurch and Miller’s overly-sympathetic approach to investigating a serious crime, but he thinks this lot could use some of that softness right now.  At least that knob - Jon?  Don? Don.  That was it.  Don Webster.  At least Webster could, while wee Sal could use a little more of his, Hardy’s, detachment.

He shakes his head, picks up his glasses and turns to the computer.

Webster is right about one thing:  they do have other cases to work on.

~~~~~

The knock, when it comes an hour later, is hesitant, but it's quickly followed by two far more confident knocks.

“Yah,” he calls without taking his eyes away from the computer screen.

The door opens and Sal steps inside.  She’s carrying several pieces of paper in her hand.

He takes in her solemn expression and leans back in his chair.  He raises an eyebrow and takes off his glasses.

“What?” he asks.  “Have the whole lot of you decided to put in for a transfer?”

She blinks limpid blue eyes in confusion, then shakes her head.  “Oh, no, sir. Well, Donny was determined to go but we talked him out of it.”

“Really?  What did you promise him?”

“The satisfaction of showing you up when he solves the thing.”

Hardy’s mouth reluctantly quirks into a half-smile.  “Well played, wee Sal.”

Sal smiles shyly.  “I think you have a good heart, sir, even if you’re far too grumpy.”

He drops his gaze to his desk, a flush creeping up his cheeks.  He suddenly, fiercely, misses his beard.  “Is that what you’re here to tell me?  That I’m too grumpy?”

“What?  Oh.  No.  I think we’ve found something.”

Hardy lifts his head, eyes wide, nostrils flaring like he’s sniffing the air. “Yah?”

“Not a suspect, unfortunately...but I think he’s hunting a much larger area than we first thought.”

He scowls.  “Tell me.”

“I’ve been using HOLMES, and there are six unsolved murders with similar MOs spread out from Kent to Cornwall, all within thirty or so miles of the coast.  The oldest one is almost three years old.  May 2012, in Sandbrook.”

He stares, a cold sinking feeling in his stomach.

“Fuck.”

~~~~~

Ellie

Chief Superintendent Elaine Jenkinson walks into Ellie’s office and closes the door, causing her to look up in surprise.

“I’ve just had a call from the CS in Stonebridge,” Elaine says without preamble.  “They’re pulling together a special meeting of Dis working along the coast.  Friday and Saturday.”

Ellie’s widen.  “Well, did they say what it’s about?”

Elaine sighs and lowers herself into the chair in front of the desk.

“They’ve been finding bodies.  Prostitutes.  All in their early twenties, all with similar MOs, all dumped beside the river.  They’ve done a cursory review of unsolved crimes in HOLMES and think there are some that may be linked to the same killer, all along the coast.  They’re setting up a special task force, most likely commanded out of Stonebridge but they’re willing to shift the base of operations if it seems the perpetrator is operating from somewhere else.”

“Is it usual for serial killers to operate over such a large area?” Ellie asks doubtfully.

Elaine gives her a sad smile.  “Serial killers are like anybody else:  they’re all different.  I told them you’d be attending.”

“Yah, of course,” Ellie says absently, a tiny frown line between her eyes.

“Stonebridge will be running point on this, but I’ve promised them our full cooperation.  Whatever plans you might have had for the weekend, cancel them.”

“Of course,” Ellie says again.  “I’ll leave the boys with Lucy or Beth.”

Elaine smiles and stands.  “Thanks, Ellie.  None of the unsolved cases are ours, of course, but we’ll provide your brain power and some DSs for leg work.  It’ll be a good opportunity for you, too.  See how the big boys do it.”

~~~~~

Ellie signs in to the police station in Stonebridge, takes her visitor ID badge and follows the desk sergeant to the large conference room located on the third floor towards the back of the building.  The room is already teeming with detectives, greeting each other and chatting in various groups.  Scurrying around and between them are support staff completing the set-up of the room.

Ellie pauses on the threshold, scanning the crowd of unfamiliar faces until her gaze falls upon someone she does recognize.  Tess Henchard is standing with a group of other detectives with that familiar smug confidence she wears like a cloak.  Ellie hesitates.  She has nothing against the other woman, but even after almost eight months, she's not sure she's ready to share small talk with Tess which will inevitably shift to Hardy, whose absence in the room is glaring.  But Tess is the only person Ellie recognizes and, being Ellie, she approaches with a nervous smile.

Tess glances at her as she joins them then does a double take.  “Ellie!”

“Hello, Tess,” she says and turns to include the four men standing with her.  “Morning.”

“I hadn’t realized he’d included Broadchurch in this,” Tess says thoughtfully.  “You have some unsolved murders of prostitutes in your town?”

“Well, no, but I was told they were inviting someone from all the territorial police forces that border the coast.  We probably just got caught in the net.  Better safe than sorry and all that.”

Tess gives her an unfathomable look but then Ellie's always had trouble reading her.

“Yes,” Tess says with an odd note of amused skepticism, “that must be it.”

Ellie gives her a puzzled look before introducing herself to the others and listens as they continue discussing what little they know about the purpose of the meeting.

“I think he's over-reacting,” Dave says.  He's another DI from Sandbrook and Tess’ colleague.  “We don't have anything that meets the profile.”

“It depends on how far back we need to go,” Tess says.  “If the perp has only been active for the last eight or nine weeks then that substantially narrows the search focus.”

“We found the first body nine weeks ago, Tess,” says a new voice from behind Ellie, “that’s not when we think he started.”

Ellie recognizes his voice with the first word and spins around, mouth gaping, eyes wide.  A part of her knows she must look ridiculous and only more so when she gets her first look at him.

Gone is the scruffy unkempt man she remembers so well.  The man standing before her is clean shaven, his shirt crisply pressed and buttoned to his throat, his tie perfectly knotted and straight.  His hair is shorter than it was in Broadchurch, and smoothly combed.  She barely recognizes him, his face all unfamiliar angles and sharp edges that could slice paper, but the overall impression is one of almost-vulnerable boyishness.

Then she meets his eyes, and they’re as wide as hers, watching her with a mixture of uncertainty, nervousness, happiness and some indefinable something that gives her a burst of fear mixed with excitement mixed with the sense of finding something that had been lost.

“Miller,” he says with an obvious effort, “finally got that promotion, then, aye?”

She gobbles, struggling for words that she never gets a chance to say because someone’s calling his name.  He glances over his shoulder and nods.

“We’re starting,” he says and leaves them after a rather helpless look at Ellie.

She shakes off her daze and settles beside an amused yet obviously annoyed Tess.

“Awright,” Hardy says from the front of the room.  “We’ve got a lot of information to get through in the next day and a half, so let’s get started.  I’ll be giving you a general overview of the situation, and then DS Sal Edwards here is going to give you a walk-through of the evidence.”

From the terrified expression on that woman’s face, Ellie’s positive he hadn't bother to warn her any more than he’d warned Ellie the first time he had her do the team briefing when they were investigating Danny’s death.

DS Edwards does a better job than Ellie, although she’s supported by Hardy when she stumbles.  The two of them guide the visiting DIs through the cases and the pitifully thin evidence Stonebridge has managed to glean from the three bodies found so far.

“These murders occurred within the last two years,” Hardy says.  “We’ve reached out to the street prostitutes in Stonebridge, telling them to be extra cautious, trust their instincts, and to come to us if there’s a customer acting suspiciously.”

“Why this big meeting?” Dave asks from the other side of Tess.  There's a note of amused contempt in his voice that Ellie finds curious.  “This isn’t the first serial killer to target slags.”

“We don’t call them that here,” DS Edwards says quickly, shooting a nervous, wide-eyed glance at Hardy.  “Not when we're talking about this case, anyway.”

“Really?” Dave chuckles.  “You going to control my language now, are you, DS Edwards?”

Hardy takes a step forward, subtly positioning himself in front of his now red-faced DS, his cold eyes locked with Dave’s.

“These women are victims,” he says, his voice tight, a familiar curl to his lips, “and we will treat them and speak about them with respect.”

Dave bristles and scowls, but Hardy’s expression doesn’t change and any lingering sense of unfamiliarity in Ellie evaporates into relief.  The Alec Hardy in front of her today may be a far cry from the exhausted, subdued man he had become in Broadchurch.  This Alec Hardy may move with a lithe quickness that had been sorely lacking prior to his surgery, and there may be a fire in his voice and eyes that gradually faded then returned on the day they finally closed the case on the Ashworths, but there's no mistaking that expression on his face.  It’s utter contempt for someone who doesn’t care as passionately as he does for the work they do and the victims they serve.  He may have shaved off his scruff, cut his hair and straightened his clothes, but beneath those superficial changes, he’s still the same man.

For some reason, the realization makes her happy.

“We’ve identified six cold cases that have a similar MO.  The oldest is in Sandbrook, where the body was found in May 2012.  Besides the fact we have a serial killer in the region and need to work together, we've also run out of leads here in Stonebridge.  If he’s committed these other murders, maybe that’s where he slipped up, especially on the early ones, when he was figuring things out.  If nothing else, maybe we can close some of those cold cases.  That, Dave, is why the big meeting.”

He turns his gaze to the others in the room.  “Any questions?”

The room erupts, questions flying fast and furiously.  They throw out suggestions and lines of enquiry, most of which Hardy and his crew have already explored, but there are a few he tells DS Edwards to note down.  Ellie thinks she looks too young and naive to be working a case like this, let alone to be second only to the DI while on the hunt for a serial killer.  She notices that DS Edwards watches Hardy with a mixture of terror and gratitude and something Ellie thinks could turn into hero worship if she isn’t careful. 

Ellie turns her attention back to Hardy, who’s responding to a comment with withering sarcasm. 

Then again, hero worship isn't bloody likely.

There’s no opportunity to talk to him at lunch because another DS comes in to the conference room, whispers in Hardy’s ear and he leaves without a single glance in her direction.

He’s back after lunch with his familiar grim expression that looks strange on his beardless face.  Even with the grimness, he seems a good ten years younger, lighter, somehow.  A stab of resentment flashes through her.  There she was, vaguely worrying about him every day for the last eight months, wondering if he’d managed to find a job and maybe even some friends, and here he is, not only a DI again but leading a special task force searching for a serial killer.  Pretty good landing for the man once branded the ‘worst cop in Britain’. 

She frowns.

He probably hadn’t given her or Broadchurch a second thought once he left.  After all, he never once contacted her in all this time.

That ignites her temper, and anger simmers below the surface as they continue working through the afternoon, poring over crime scene photos and forensics reports, searching for something, some connection that might have been missed, and making arrangements for the cold case files to be shared.

Ellie feels like a wet rag once they break for the day, albeit a wet rag that is still pissed off.  Tess leaves with a murmured comment about seeing her tomorrow, a still surly Dave in tow.  Ellie, though, isn’t about to leave without giving Hardy a piece of her mind.  She glares at his back where he's standing with a few lingering DIs and DS Edwards.  She can tell by the tilt of his head that he's listening intently to whatever is being said.

Well, she has plenty of things to say, too, but first things first.  She goes to the loo and returns in time to see the door at the opposite end of the boardroom closing on his long, lean back.

She mutters curses as she hurries across the room and yanks the door open.  She sees him walk in to an office with DS Edwards tripping over herself as she tries to keep up with him.  Ellie stomps down the hall and plants herself in the doorway.

“I see you still haven’t stopped being a knob,” she snarls.

The surprise on his face warms her heart although it doesn’t soothe her temper.  She sees DS Edwards from the corner of her eye, and the sheer horror on her face would have been amusing at any other time.

“I thought you left!” he says then quickly recovers.  “And don’t start, Miller.”

“Don’t you ‘Miller’ me!  You couldn’t have warned me you’d be running this show?”

His eyes widen at that.  DS Edwards scuttles past Ellie but they barely notice her leave.

“You mean you didn’t know?” he asks.

“Not ‘til you started talking right behind me!”

“I assumed Elaine told you.”

Ellie’s jaw drops.  “She knew?”

Now Hardy looks confused.  “Well, I assume so.  It certainly wasn’t a secret!  Of course, I don’t know what my CS told yours--”

Ellie sniffs and crosses her arms with a huff.  “Still, you should have called or something once you saw I was going to be here today.”

He gives her that stare she remembers so well, that stare that says there’s some social nicety he’s suddenly realized is in the room but he has no idea what it is or what he’s supposed to do about it.

“What?” he says.  “You mean two minutes before I walked into the room?”

She blinks.  “You mean...you didn’t deliberately invite me?”

“I had no idea you were the DI in Broadchurch.  I figured you were still stopping poor hardworking sods just trying to get home on the back roads of Devon.”

She glares.  “I’ve been DI for almost eight months.  But, of course, you would have known that if you’d bothered to get in touch with me!  Eight months and not a single phone call!  Not even a single bloody text!  You could have been lying dead in a ditch somewhere and I never would have known!”

“Oi, don’t put that on me!”  He grabs his phone and waves it at her.  “Go on, want to go through this?  Count how many messages and phone calls I’ve received from one Detective Inspector Ellie Miller in the last eight months?  Or maybe you already know how many that is?”

They stop, both practically growling as they glare at the other.

Ellie slowly becomes aware that it seems awfully quiet for such a busy police station.  She turns and sees they’re the focus of a dozen pairs of fascinated eyes.  She turns back to Hardy with a stricken expression.

Hardy rolls his own eyes.  “Never mind them, they’ll be on to a new spectacle soon enough.”

She watches as all his righteous indignation drains out of him.  He drops his gaze and tosses his phone on his desk.

“You’re right,” she says, more subdued now.

He keeps his eyes on his feet as he shrugs and shoves his hands in his pockets. 

“Didn’t expect it, really,” he mutters.  “I figured you were glad to be shot of me.  Didn’t think we’d meet again.”

“No, me either.”  She gestures helplessly.  “Yet here we are.”

He nods and silence descends.  Ellie hears movement and conversation start up again behind her, and she relaxes.  Coppers are coppers, she thinks, no matter where they are, and since the show seems to be over, it’s time to go back to work.

Hardy lifts his head.

“It’s good to see you,” he says.

“Don’t be nice to me.”

He smiles at that, a full, honest smile.  It brings a charm and sparkle to his face and eyes Ellie never would have expected and which she never would have believed if someone had told her about it.

“Fine,” he says, “then you can buy dinner.”

Her eyes narrow into suspicious slits.  “Do you still have to eat only rabbit food?”

“Na, I can eat chips now.”

She blinks and remembers asking him what kind of Scotsman he was if he didn’t like chips.  She realizes now, well over a year later, that he hadn’t eaten chips because of doctor’s orders rather than any distaste for them.

She scoffs anyway.  “Do you even know where any of the good chip places are?”

He gives her a haughty glare and stalks towards her.  She moves out of the way when it appears he’s going to just walk over her if she doesn’t.

“Sal!” he barks.

DS Edwards lets out a startled yelp from where she’s sitting at her desk and drops the pen she’s holding.  She turns wide blue eyes in their direction.

“Yes, sir?”

“Where’s the best chips place in town?”

“Tony’s on the Common,” she says promptly.

He turns to Ellie.  “Tony’s on the Common,” he says, perfectly deadpan.

Ellie rolls her eyes.  “Unbelievable,” she says.  “I’m going to my hotel to shower and change.  Where do you live?  I’ll pick you up.”

His mouth curves into a slight smile as he gives her his address then glances at his watch.  “How long do you need?”

“An hour?”

He nods, then turns to an avidly watching Sal, ignoring the others who are busily pretending not to watch.

“How late is Tony’s open?”

“2:00 a.m., sir.”

“Good.  Would hate to disappoint you, Miller.”

She shakes her head.  “I’ll be at your place in an hour, more or less.”

“Awright,” he says, his eyes warm.

Ellie takes a step back, nods, then turns tail and runs.

~~~~~

An hour and ten minutes later, Ellie is knocking on the door to Hardy’s flat.  She’s not sure if the building he’s living in is a step up or a step down from the little blue shack.  She’s considering the wall fixtures behind her, wondering if they’re so tacky they’re actually attractive or if they’re just tacky, when the door opens.

She turns and is taken aback at the sight of a teenage girl standing in the doorway, long brown hair flowing across her shoulders and down her back.  There’s something in the shape of her face, in her eyes, that Ellie immediately recognizes as coming from her father.

“You must be Daisy,” she says and gives her a wide smile.

Daisy nods, her eyes curious. “You must be Miller.”

Ellie rolls her eyes. “Ellie, please!  Or do you have your father’s preference for last names?”

“Not really, but I think it’s always a good option, don’t you?”

She steps aside and lets Ellie into the flat.  There’s a faint smile on her face that again reminds Ellie of Hardy.

Ellie chuckles.  “Yah, suppose so.  Am I interrupting your weekend with your dad?”

“Not really.  He usually comes my way, but since Mum had to be here anyway, I hitched a ride.”

“Are you sure?  You can come with, if you’d like.”

“Na.  Dad already asked but I have homework since I missed school today and it’ll give me some time away from Mum, too.  Besides, I’m staying here until Sunday anyway.”

“If you’re sure...”

“I see him almost every weekend and talk to him pretty much every day.  When’s the last time you talked to him?”

Ellie flushes guiltily and glances away, looking around the sparsely furnished apartment.  “Where is he, anyway?”

“I sent him to get changed.”

Ellie blinks.  “What?”

Daisy curls her lip in a familiar expression of distaste.  “He was going to take you out for chips dressed in a suit and tie.”

Ellie bites back a laugh at Daisy’s disgusted tones.

“I laid out some jeans and a jumper for him,” Daisy raises her voice and calls, “and he better be wearing them when he comes out!”

“Awright, awright,” Hardy says as he opens the door and walks into the living room.  He is, as directed, wearing jeans.  He’s straightening a soft green jumper he’s pulled on over a button down shirt and gives Ellie a long-suffering look as he stops in front of his daughter.  He holds out his arms at shoulder height.

“Do I pass inspection?”

Daisy raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms and tapping her mouth with her index finger as she makes a show of circling him, then says, “Yah, you’ll do.”

Hardy heaves an exaggerated sigh of relief, drops his arms, and turns to Ellie with a smile that brings out the dimples she never realized he had.

“Ready?” he asks.

Ellie nods, trying to ignore the little ball of excitement churning in her stomach and the odd liquidity she feels in her limbs, because really, it’s not like they haven’t eaten together before.  They’ll probably talk shop the entire time, since that’s all they have in common.

He starts to push his feet into his shoes.

“Dad.  The trainers.”

He gives her a wide-eyed, vaguely guilty stare.

Daisy puts her hands on her hips.  “We had this conversation,” she says sternly.

“Yes, darlin’,” he sighs and pulls on his trainers instead.

He turns to his daughter and opens his arms.

She gives him a scandalized look and flashes an even more scandalized one at Ellie.  “We’ve talked about this, too, Dad.  Honestly, you’re only going out to dinner!”

“Fine,” he growls, then smiles and puts an arm around her shoulders. “Love you, darlin’.  Don’t know what I’d do without you.  I won’t be too late.  If you’re worried about anything, just give me a ring and I’ll get home right away.”

“Stop worrying, Dad,” she sighs.  “Go, have some fun.  I’ll see you later.”

He presses a kiss against her temple, releases her and ushers Ellie to the door.

He pauses on the threshold.  “Oh, by the way, did you borrow the book that was beside my bed?  I was hoping to finish it tonight.”

Daisy gives him a puzzled frown.  “The only time I was in there today was when I was picking out your clothes.”

“Awright.  I must have knocked it to the floor, then.”  He smiles and closes the door.

~~~~~

They walk from his flat and stroll in not-quite-awkward but not-quite-comfortable silence until Ellie can’t take it anymore.

“I guess you do hug people,” she blurts, then looks stricken.  He probably doesn’t even remember what she’s referring to, she thinks, mentally kicking herself.

He slides a side-long glance at her and smirks a little, dimple flashing.

“I’m quite good at it, too, or so I’ve been told.”

“Well, she’s your daughter, so she may just be trying to spare your feelings.”

He rolls his eyes.  “I can’t believe I’ve actually missed you, Miller.”

Now it’s his turn to look stricken, if his suddenly averted face is anything to go by.

She grins.  “You missed me?”

He stays silent and she realizes he’s doing what she’s seen him do so many times before:  bracing himself for the fallout from whatever he’s just said.  It’s an unconscious thing, a way he positions himself, preparing himself for whatever life or the angry person in front of him is about to throw his way.

She takes pity on him and doesn’t press the question.

They walk into Tony’s and get a table.  They order their meals then simply look at each other.

She nervously clears her throat then says, “You shaved.”

He smiles.  “No wonder you're a detective.  Daisy made me.  Says I don’t look like her dear old dad with all that scruff.”

“Kids,” Ellie says with a chuckle.

“How’ve you been?” he asks, leaning forward, resting his clasped hands on the table.

He may look different without a beard, but his eyes are the same:  wide, dark, intent, as if he could see all the answers she’s trying to hide if only he looks hard enough.

She shrugs, dropping her gaze to the table, where she picks up her knife then puts it down again.  “Oh, you know.  Busy, what with two kids, a job and no husband.”  She winces.

“Have you heard anything from him?”

She gives a small shake of her head.  “No, and that better be the way it stays.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“I told him I’d kill him if he came near us. Hopefully he took the threat seriously.”

“ _Were_ you serious?”

“Deadly.  What?  You don’t think I’d do it?”

“You would absolutely do it.  I just don’t want to be investigating the case.  I’d hate to have to arrest you, Miller.”

“Well, it’d keep it in the family, I guess.”

He ducks his head and chuckles.  “I’m glad things are better for you.”

She smiles and shrugs.  “What about you?  DI in the big city, and now head of this massive investigation.  Pretty good for the worst cop in Britain!”

“We-ell, give me a wee bit of time and I’m sure I’ll more than deserve that title again.”

“And you’ve suddenly developed a sense of humour!”

“I’ve always had a sense of humour.  I just didn’t have the energy for it.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Never better.  How are the boys?”

To Ellie’s surprise, their conversation flows easily, and he even laughs at a couple of the stories she shares.  She tells him about Nige's continuing inability to do any more poaching now that everyone knows about it and how he keeps getting caught in the most inconvenient ways.  He tells her about DS Edwards--or wee Sal, as he calls her--accidentally breaking the projector last week just before DS Webster’s presentation on the conference he’d attended in London.

“I offered her a special commendation, because it saved my DSs at least two hours.  She told me that’s why she did it.”

Ellie chuckles then sobers.  “Why is she your lead DS on this case?  She seems very green.”

Hardy rolls his eyes.  “Oi, greener than the spring grass.  But she was the DS who caught the case, and I think she can handle it.  She has a lot of support from the other DSs and working on the task force will be a good learning experience.  Besides, she's been doing exemplary work.  Webster’s getting a bit stroppy about it, though, but then he’s even more of knob than I am.”

She winces. “Oh, that must make for some fun work days.”

He shrugs. “At least the nicknames are a bit more creative than what you lot in Broadchurch came up with.”

“Really?  Share.  We can always use new material.”

“Na, na, na--you’re a detective.  It’s up to you to figure it out.”

“Don’t think I won’t!”

“I don’t.”

Ellie smiles at that, wide and open, the way she used to smile before Danny died and her life fell apart.

“Well, I have to say you’re almost pleasant when you’re not stealing jobs and on the verge of dying,” she says cheerfully.

He rolls his eyes.

~~~~~

They walk back to where she parked her car.

He shoves his hands in his pockets as she opens it then turns to face him, the door between them like as shield.

“It’s good seeing you, Hardy,” she says.  “I wondered where you ended up.”  She pauses, then says, “Are you happy?”

“I’m fine, Miller,” he says with his usual brusqueness.

Now it’s her turn to roll her eyes.  “Sorry for asking.”

He ducks his head, frowning, then shrugs.  “I'm...fine.”

“You still seem very alone.”

He shrugs again, and she sees the familiar twist to his lips, the one he makes when he's struggling to figure out what to say and usually ends with silence or a change of subject.  As it does this time, too.

He takes his hands out of his pockets and lifts his head to look at her, his eyes dark and steady.

“It’ll be good to work together again,” he says, “even if you're only on the periphery of this one.”

He takes a step closer and holds out his hand.

She smiles a little as she reaches out and shakes it.

“See you tomorrow,” she says.

He nods.

She drives off, and sees him standing there, tall and lanky, his hands shoved back in his pockets as he watches her drive away.

~~~~~

Hardy

“You’re home early,” Daisy says as he closes the door behind him.

“Work tomorrow.”

“You should ask her out when you don’t have to work the next day.  Really show her how much fun you can be.”

He stares at Daisy with an expression usually reserved for stepping in something unmentionable and smelly.

“It’s not like that,” he growls.  “We worked together in Broadchurch.”

“I know who she is, Dad.  Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t still show her you’re not always a big grump.”

Hardy shakes his head and presses a kiss to the top of Daisy’s head.  “Don’t stay up too late, yah?”

“I won’t.”

~~~~~

He searches everywhere in his bedroom, but the book he’s reading is nowhere to be found.

~~~~~

The briefing the next day goes quickly and is focused on determining who will be on the task force.

“Sandbrook, of course, since the oldest cold case is one of yours,” Hardy says, and ignores Tess’ smug expression and Dave’s pleased grin.  He then names the DIs with the other five cold cases as the main members of the task force.  “The rest of you will be support, as needed.  We may each call on you separately, and we'll want you to bring us any cases that match the killer’s MO.”

He puts his hands on his hips and looks out over the crowd of faces. 

“I don’t need to remind you, but:  not a word to the media about this.  They haven't been paying attention so far and that's the way we want it stay.  The victims are prostitutes, after all.  Their individual murders won’t sell papers, but a serial killer working the southern coastline of England surely will.”  He sweeps the small crowd of DIs with a hard glare, then nods.  “Awright.  We’re done.”

Everyone gets up, talking at once, and Ellie marches up to Hardy with a mutinous set to her jaw.

She plants herself in front of him.  “Why haven’t I been given a bigger role on the task force?”

He stares.  “Because you can’t be out of Broadchurch for long,” he says calmly.  “You have the boys to think about.”

She makes a scoffing noise.  “Like I can’t review evidence at a distance!”

He opens his mouth but is interrupted by Tess and Dave.

“Well, it makes sense that those DIs with the unsolved cases be on the task force,” Tess says, and Hardy sees Miller clenching her teeth. 

“Consider yourself lucky,” Dave adds.  “At least you know the perp isn’t working in your town.”

Hardy struggles not to roll his eyes.  For a man who was shagging another man's wife when vital evidence went missing, Dave is far too sure of himself.

“The fact Broadchurch has no cold cases is one reason,” Hardy says quickly to stop himself from punching the son-of-a-bitch, “the other is I’d rather use Miller as an independent set of eyes.  She sees things others miss.  She was invaluable with Sandbrook, remember, finding the link we’d all overlooked the first time around.”

There’s a sudden tense silence, and Tess presses her lips together and shakes her head at him with an air of disappointment.

“Really, Alec, you need to let it go,” she sighs.  “We’ll messenger copies of the cold case file.  You’ll get it tomorrow.”

He nods.  “I’ll put Daisy on the usual train.”

“Right.”  Tess gives Miller a determined smile and nod before saying to Hardy, “I’ll talk to you next week, yah?”

“Yah.”

Dave gives Ellie a nod and a smile, gives Hardy a dismissive, contemptuous glance, then walks out with Tess.

“Who is that guy?” Miller asks curiously.  “He doesn’t seem to like you very much.  Not that that’s anything unusual.”

Hardy knows she’s joking but the words sting nonetheless.

“We have a history,” he growls.

“Oh?  Never would have guessed.”

He gives her a dark glare.  She pulls a face but drops the subject.

“So,” she says, “an independent set of eyes?”

“We’ll get you copies of everything we have so far, and whatever we get from the other territorial police forces.”  He stares, his face impassive.  “I meant what I said, Miller.  You catch things others miss.  That will be invaluable in a case like this.”

She raises a finger in warning.  “What did I tell you about being nice to me?”

“Um, sir?”

Hardy and Miller turn surprised faces to Sal, who's staring at the phone in her hand.  She looks up with a puzzled frown. 

“I think you need to see this,” she says and turns the phone in his direction.

He scowls, pulls out his glasses and peers at the screen.  He blinks, and plucks the phone out of her hand.  Miller leans in beside him to get a closer look.

“What the bloody hell...?” he asks, confused, unable to understand what he’s seeing.

It’s an electronic postcard, and that he gets.  The picture is him with his arm around Daisy, hugging her close to his side.  They’re walking on a street, and he’s grinning down at her.  She’s looking up at him, a wide, happy smile on her face.  Even that he might be able to understand.

What doesn’t make sense, though, is the caption:  _Hardy likes_ _‘_ _em young._

He blinks at Miller and Sal.  “What the bloody hell?” he says again, barely noticing when Miller pulls the phone out of his hand.

“Sir,” Sal says, and now her voice is cold, “who is that girl with you?”

“My bloody daughter!”

She relaxes.

“Where did this come from?” he demands.

“I don’t know.”

“I think you’d better go talk to the rest of your team, Hardy,” Miller says, sounding strange.

He turns his glare on her.  “Why?”

“Because whoever sent this seems to have sent it to everyone in the police station.”

~~~~~


	5. Chapter Three

Hardy

To Hardy’s simmering frustration, he spends the next hour explaining to his CS that no, he isn’t shagging an underage girl, that the girl in the picture is his daughter and he can prove it, that no, he doesn’t know where or when the picture was taken, nor does he know who would have sent the postcard, or why it was sent to everyone in the station, and that yes, he more than fully understands the implications if this were to be sent to the media while he’s in the midst of investigating another potentially high-profile case.

Miller’s hovering over Sal’s desk when he comes storming back to his office and he pauses when their eyes meet.

“I thought you’d gone,” he says.

“What?  Without knowing what’s happened?” She’s teasing but there’s a serious look in her eyes that he recognizes.

He invites her into his office with a tilt of his head and closes the door behind her.

“Seriously, Miller, you should have been out of here an hour ago.”

“Don’t avoid the subject.  What did your CS say?”

He shrugs, loosening his tie and undoing the top button of his shirt before he sinks into his chair.

“The usual.  Who, what, when, where, why and how.  None of which I know, of course.”

“Well, Sal and I traced the e-mail address to a cyber-cafe on the Common, not far from Tony’s, actually.  The account was created fifteen minutes before the e-mail was sent.”

He’s staring at her with a puzzled frown. “How did you find all that in such a short period of time?”

“Turns out your wee Sal is a bit of a hacker.”

His eyes widen.  “Please don’t tell me she hacked into a private company’s electronic records from the Stonebridge police network?”

Ellie’s lips curve upward.  “We slipped across the street to the coffee shop.  She said your CS likes to lecture so she figured we had at least an hour.”

He scowls.  “There was no need to go to all that trouble.”

Ellie raises an eyebrow.  “No? Somebody sent a message that was intended to smear your reputation.  You don’t want to know who did that?”

“Hell, yes!  I wouldn’t give a shit if it had just been me, God knows my reputation has been ruined before.  But they dragged my daughter into it and that’s something I won’t forget in a hurry.  It’s such a ludicrously easy charge to disprove, though, it’s obviously just somebody taking the piss.  Most likely Webster.  I told you he was getting stroppy about Sal being the lead DS for this case.”

“Yeah, well, maybe, but you can’t prove it.”

“No, and I don’t think I’ll have to.  I’ll speak to the team members who are here today and the rest of them on Monday.”  His face is grim, eyes angry.

“What’s that going to accomplish?”

“That I’m willing to let this one go.  Bad judgement, joke gone wrong, sent it to the wrong mailing list, all that horseshit.  But I’m going to make it quite clear:  if anyone involves Daisy again, there’ll be no second chances.”

Ellie frowns, staring off into the distance.  “That won’t be good for team cohesion,” she says slowly, “if everyone’s in trouble for one person’s stupidity.  Especially when you don’t know which person.  Suspicion tears everything apart.”  She grimaces, and Hardy knows she’s thinking about Danny Latimer and what his death did to the town and the people she loves.  He suddenly remembers Jack Marshall’s body being washed by the surf.

“Yeah,” he says softly, “yeah, it does.  Don’t worry.  I won’t muck it up.”

She looks at him with dismayed skepticism.  “Maybe I should stay and do it.”

“Get out,” he growls then reluctantly chuckles. 

She grins and they subside into thoughtful silence.

“Still,” she says, “a bit unpleasant, yah?”

He nods, then glances at his watch.  “You better get going, Miller.  You still have a drive ahead of you.”

She raises an eyebrow.  “Never seemed to bother you when we were chasing after Sandbrook.”

“That was a case.”

“More like an obsession.”

He ducks his head.

“I didn’t mind,” she says and he glances up at her.  “Well, I mean, I minded, but not really.  We got them in the end.”

He nods.  “I wasn’t sure I would live to see it.” 

“I guess it gave us both something to live for when we didn’t have much reason other than our children.”

He lifts his head, eyes wide, and looks at her in silence.

She shifts uncomfortably.  “Well, you’re right. I’d better get going.”

He stands.  “I’ll walk you to your car.”

She sighs.  “What did I tell you about being nice to me?”

“It’s not for you, Miller.  I need some fresh air.”

~~~~~

As they walk to the car, he confirms that her phone number is the same, assures her he’ll be in touch, and watches her leave.

He stands in the empty parking spot and stares after her for a long time.

~~~~~

Ellie

Ellie commandeers a boardroom at the Broadchurch police station and sets up a murder board.  For nine cold cases, she thinks as she reviews each piece of information, the evidence is painfully slim.  Everything fits on one board, and she sees why Hardy called a task force together to help. 

Even with the additional six cases, there’s still nothing to go on.

~~~~~

Hardy receives her report with a gusty sigh and somber silence on the other end of the phone.

“What are you going to do now?” she asks.

“Wait,” he growls, “and keep warning the sex workers in the city.  He’s going to kill again, Miller, and we’re not going to be able to stop him.”

~~~~~

The Saturday after her return from Stonebridge, Ellie and the boys go to Beth’s house for dinner.  Beth still moves sometimes like she’s wounded, still looks at the world with a bewildered expression, but she’s coping, healing and learning to live with the scars and the gaping emptiness left behind.  Mark moved out months earlier and Ellie ruefully admits Beth’s dealing with being alone much better than Ellie had.

Of course, Mark hadn’t confessed to being in love with, and then killing, an eleven-year-old boy.

It’s almost a year since Joe’s acquittal, almost two since Danny’s death, and Ellie’s baffled by how quickly the time has passed while still feeling like no time has gone by at all.

But for now, it’s still February and all they can do is live one day at a time.

She smiles at Beth as they leave Tom and Chloe to entertain Fred and Lizzie while they clean up.

“Tell me about Stonebridge,” Beth says, filling the sink with water.  “You’ve been so busy since you got back.”

Ellie grimaces as she begins drying dishes.  “I can’t tell you much, only that I’m helping out on a case.  Oh, but I can tell you who the DI is:  Alec Hardy.”

“No!  When did he land there?”

“Around the same time I got the job here.”

“I was wondering where he ended up.”

Ellie smiles.  “Funny how things work.”

Beth gives her a thoughtful look.  “Yes, it is.  Tell him...” she pauses and her face crumples before she shakes her head and regains control.  “Tell him I said hello, and...I’m glad he’s doing well.”  She pauses, thinking.  “I’d like to see him again.  Thank him for everything he did for us.”

“I think he’d tell you that isn’t necessary.  Especially since Joe still got off, in spite of his efforts.”

“Nonetheless.  You will tell him, won’t you, Ellie?”

Ellie nods, her face solemn.  “I’ll tell him.”

Beth smiles, then says, “Now, I was talking to Joan down at the newsagents, and she knows of a bloke who’d be interested in a date.”

Ellie groans and rolls her eyes.  “No more blind dates, please!  At least not for the foreseeable future.  This thing with Stonebridge is going to take up a lot of my time, plus I’ll have to travel there regularly and most likely at very short notice.”

“Of course.  Just let me know when you need me to take the boys.”

~~~~~

Tom’s on half-term and Ellie’s dealing with her usual quota of petty theft, poaching--or attempted poaching, in Nige’s case, and she wonders when he’s going to simply give it up--and the odd domestic argument that escalates into violence.  It’s peaceful and she’s grateful, but beneath it all she thinks of those nine women, and the man responsible for their deaths still roaming free.

She’s waiting for the day the perpetrator kills again, because Hardy’s right.

It’s only a matter of time.

~~~~~

Hardy

Hardy slides into his usual seat at his pub and gives his order to the bartender--the no-longer-new girl with the sweet smile who never seems able to remember what he drinks.  He nods in thanks when the drink arrives and slouches over it, lost in thought.  He’s not listening to the conversation around him tonight, he’s too caught up in wondering what to do next to find that vital clue to the serial killer case.

He feels a clock ticking, much like he had for Sandbrook and Danny Latimer.  This time, though, it isn’t ticking down his life but rather how long before the predator he’s seeking kills again.  Another one, more like an alarm clock really, is ticking towards the time they’ll have no recourse but to involve the media.  Getting publicity may bring in tips and leads they won’t find on their own, but he remembers only too well what happened with Sandbrook and the Latimer case, and the damage that a sensationalized press can cause.

He lifts his glass in a toast to Jack and closes his eyes against the memory.

He’s startled back to his surroundings by someone sliding into the chair beside him.

He stares, surprised and wary, then says, “Missy.”

She smiles.  “Nice to see you again, too, Alec.  You know, I still like that name.”

“Does this mean you’d like another drink?”

“Love one.”

Hardy signals the bartender who reluctantly approaches and takes Missy’s order.  The look on her face is far from the professional welcoming one she’d shown to Hardy.  She sets Missy’s drink in front of her with clink, a scowl and a significant glare at him.

Missy picks up her drink with a rueful smile.  “You may be persona non grata in here from now on.”

“Me?  What about you?”

“I know the owner.”

“Ah.  Well, put in a good word for me, yah?”

“Not a problem.”  She takes another sip of her drink before she leans closer and murmurs, “I’ve been asked to help you with the case you’re working.”

Hardy’s eyes widen and he stares, taken aback.

“Don’t say anything,” she murmurs and smiles flirtatiously.  “Not here.  Can we go to your car?”

“I always walk here,” he says and knows he looks as stunned as he sounds

Missy rolls her eyes.  “Of course you do.  Well, we can go for a walk if you promise not to walk too quickly.”  She tilts her head towards her feet.

He looks down and his eyebrows rise at the sight of the high stiletto heels she’s wearing.  He’s so used to women in sensible police boots he forgets that women sometimes wear shoes that have nothing to do with practicality.

“Awright,” he says.

They finish their drinks and Hardy settles the bill, very aware of the bartender’s angry stare following them as they leave the pub.

They don’t speak until they’re a couple of blocks away.

“What did you mean back there?” Hardy says.

She hums, then says, “I’ve been working as an informant for the last year or so.  My contact asked if I could help.”

“Can you?”

She shrugs.  “For a fee.”

“Of course,” he says drily.

“You should be more grateful,” she snaps.  “I haven’t worked the street in years.”

He stops in his tracks.  “Na, na, na, this isn’t some movie or something you see on the telly!  There’s a real man out there, murdering women and putting yourself into a vulnerable situation isn’t the way to help, no matter how much money we might be paying you.”

She laughs.  “Calm down, Scotty, for God’s sake!  You’re not talking to some inexperienced undercover cop, you know.  I survived the streets before, I can do it again, but there’s not much I can do if I’m not actually there.”

“That is a stupid idea,” he snaps.

“Look, I understand the women have all gone missing around the same time.  I figured I’d stroll the Avenue in that time frame and see what I see.”

He points a stern, commanding finger at her.  “No picking up customers?”

“No picking up customers.”  She frowns.  “Although if he’s watching, that might start to look suspicious after a while.”  She laughs at the expression on his face.  “You can learn a lot from movies and shows on the telly.”

He hesitates.  He doesn’t like it, but he’s desperate and he hears that clock ticking down to the moment there’s another dead woman beside the river.

If there isn’t one already.

“Awright,” he says, and hopes he hasn’t just made a horrible mistake.

~~~~~

Hardy catches a double homicide the next day, and works relentlessly to close the case.  Straightforward, really, he thinks three nights later as he finally drags himself out of the station.  It took longer to physically locate the guy than it had to determine who was responsible.  But it’s been three days of little to no sleep and wearing the same clothes, and he’s in desperate need of a shower and a shave.

Besides, he needs to go home before he forgets where it is and what it looks like, although his long hours away might explain why he’s often slightly confused whenever he walks in, as though things are familiar but somehow different.

He’s almost at his flat when his phone rings.  He sees Daisy’s number and his heart skips a beat.  This is not a normal time for her to call.

“Hello, darlin’,” he says, hoping he doesn’t sound as worried as he feels.

“ _Why didn’t you tell me?_ ”

She’s strident and tearful and he’s suddenly in full fight or flight mode.

“Tell you what?” he demands.

“About Mum!  About what’s-his-name!  About how she’s the one who lost key evidence because she was shagging somebody who wasn’t you!”

“Daisy!”

“I hate her!  How could she?”

“Don’t speak about your mother like that!” he says sharply.

Daisy’s sobbing in earnest now, and his heart breaks.

“Where are you, darlin’?” he asks, gently now.  “Are you at home?  I can be in Sandbrook in a few hours and we can talk.  I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

She pulls in a sobbing gasp of air and says, “I’m not in Sandbrook.  I’m here, at the train station.”

~~~~~

He jogs into the station, eyes wild, scanning the space, desperate to get to her.

He’ll deal with her mother later.

He sees her almost immediately, his poor, broken-hearted girl, and he rushes to her and wraps his arms around her.  They stand in the middle of the quiet train station as he hugs her close, making soothing noises against the top of her head.

Finally, she says, her voice soggy and muffled, “You stink, Dad, and you’re all sweaty.”

He grins and loosens his grip.  He looks into her eyes, his hands on her shoulders.  “I’ve been working for three days straight.  Of course I’m stinky and sweaty.”

“And scruffy,” she says and wrinkles her nose.

“Haven’t had time to shave.”

“It’s okay,” she says with a watery sniff.  “It looks good on you.”

He raises an eyebrow and gives her a skeptical look.

“Figure I’d better butter you up,” she says with a tentative, trembling smile, “since I’ve come to live with you.”

~~~~~

“I don’t _know_ , Tess!”

“No?  Well, I know I didn’t bloody tell her!  Who else knows the truth, Alec?  If I didn’t tell her, and I know Dave didn’t tell her, that only leaves you!”

“For God’s sake, Tess, I ruined my career so she’d never find out!  Why would I tell her now?”

“For exactly this!  So she’d run to you!  Damn it, Alec!  I’ll be there in the morning to pick her up!”

He pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes.  “She says she’s not going back, and she doesn’t want to see you.”

“Well, too bloody bad!”

“Fine,” he growls, “but don’t come crying to me if she refuses to speak to you.  I seem to remember somebody telling me to give her time to come round.  Maybe you should be listening to your own advice.”

“Don’t you give me any bloody shitty platitudes!”

He bites back the words he wants to say, and pulls in a deep, calming breath before saying, “I don’t know who told her, but she knows now.  We have to do whatever we can to help our girl through this.  We’re not going to be able to do that if we’re fighting each other.”

“I’ll be there in the morning, Alec, and I’m taking her home.”

“Fine.”

~~~~~

Tess arrives at ten and the meeting goes as well as he expects.  It starts with calm tones and ends with Daisy screaming “I hate you!” at her mother and slamming her bedroom door so hard one of the pictures he’d put on the wall slips off its nail and crashes to the floor.

Tess’ face crumples and Hardy puts an arm around her and says, “You have to give her time.”

Tess wrenches herself away from him and glares.  “What would you know about it?”

He gives her a speaking look and she has the grace to look embarrassed.

“Look,” he says, “she forgave me, didn’t she?  When she thought it was all my fault.”

“Stop acting like I’m the only one responsible for the end of our marriage!  As if you had nothing to do with it!  If you hadn’t stopped paying attention to me, I never would have turned to Dave!”

“Oh, so it’s my fault you decided to shag another man and to put that before your duty to your job?  And I paid attention to you--”

“Please!  You never even knew about Dave until we had to tell you about the pendant!”

“Of course I knew!  Just like I knew about all the others!”

Tess gasps and there’s sudden, tense silence as she stares at him, eyes saucer-wide.  Hardy is almost viciously satisfied that he’s finally managed to puncture that smugness that surrounds her, that had surrounded her even as she and Dave stood in his office, confessing all.

“Dave was the only one,” she whispers weakly.

He shakes his head.  “It doesn’t matter anymore,” he growls.  “Look, go home.  Give her time.  She forgave me, she’ll forgive you.”

Tess grabs her purse, pale and shaken but with a determined set to her chin.  “If you did this, Alec, believe me, I’ll make you pay.”

He gives her an incredulous look and ushers her out the door.

~~~~~

He checks on Daisy then calls Miller.

“She’s living with you now?  Why?”

He thinks carefully before saying, “She’s had a falling out with her mother.”

“Are you up for this, Hardy?  You barely take care of yourself!”

He huffs what might be a chuckle.  “I do a little better now,” he says.  “I need someone to take over as DI for a few days while I get Daisy settled.  For the task force, I mean.  One of the other DIs here can take care of anything else that might come up.”

“I can’t.  Tom’s on half term.”

He groans and rubs his forehead.  “Awright.  I’ll see if I can get one of the others.  Definitely won’t be Tess.”

Miller’s silent and he imagines the expression on her face.  She was probably cursing him right now.

“If I bring the boys, can you fit us all in your flat?”

“Do I have a choice?”

~~~~~

Ellie

Tom isn’t thrilled with the idea of going to Stonebridge during his half-term, but Ellie insists.  They’ll be back before school starts again, and she refuses to leave him behind even if he could stay with Beth.

Tom pouts all the way to Stonebridge, and she begins to have second thoughts when they arrive at Hardy’s flat.

Daisy is subdued, her eyes red, but she’s welcoming enough.  Ellie notices paper with Hardy’s angular, scratchy writing scattered on the coffee table.

“Schools,” he says when he notices her curiosity, “and lists of things to do.”  He looks at Tom and Fred and nods a wary greeting.  “Tom.  Wee Fred has gotten so big.”

Ellie beams.  “Growing like a weed, he is.”

“Well, we’re going to put all three of you in my bedroom, if you can manage.  Daisy’s in her bedroom, of course, and I’ll be on the sofa.”

“You going to be up to looking after three children while I’m at the station?” Ellie asks.  She tries and fails to keep the amused grin off her face.

“I have help,” he growls.

Her grin only gets bigger.

~~~~~

The next morning is a little chaotic.  Both Tom and Fred wake with her because they’re in a new place and Tom’s nervous about being left with Hardy, of all people.  They, of course, wake Hardy from his fitful sleep on the sofa, and they all, in turn, wake Daisy.  Between rotating through the single bathroom, Hardy making breakfast for everyone, and her getting ready for work, the morning flies and before she knows it, she’s out the door, leaving a rather bewildered-looking Hardy with two teenagers and a three-year-old.

She laughs all the way to the station.

~~~~~

Sal takes Ellie’s presence in stride.  Webster, on the other hand, is scowling and confrontational when she tells him she’ll be covering for Hardy for a few days.

“How long is ol’ GB gonna be gone?” he growls.

She frowns.  “GB?”

“Hardy,” Sal says with a speaking look at Webster.

Webster pulls a face before he turns to Ellie with a patently false wide smile on his too-handsome face.  “Just our affectionate pet name for him,” he says smoothly.

Ellie raises an eyebrow but decides to let it go.

“He’ll be back in a few days,” she says breezily.  “I’m just holding down the fort on the serial killer case.  Another DI will be handling everything else.”

Webster sniffs. “Should be a breeze, then, because nothing’s happening with that one.”

Now it’s Ellie’s turn to give him a wide, patently false smile.  “Well, let’s see if we can change that while I’m here.”

~~~~~

She has Sal and Webster walk her through the case again, showing her the linkages on their murder board.

There are no moments of sudden inspiration, but she watches Sal carefully, and nods to herself.  She understands why Hardy kept her as the lead over Webster.  She has a devotion to the case that seems to be lacking in the other DS.  It’s a level of dedication that’s necessary in a situation like this, working a case that could take years to solve, if it’s ever solved at all.

She stands back and looks at the board and feels something niggling at her, but she can’t quite grasp it.  She remembers the feeling from the Sandbrook case and she smiles.  She looks with shining eyes at Sal and Webster and thinks maybe they’ll be able to find something to break this case before Hardy’s back.

~~~~~

It isn’t today.

She returns to Hardy’s flat no further ahead on the case than before, and sees his car is gone.  She parks and walks into the building, nodding hello to the building’s maintenance person as they pass in the lobby, and hopes someone is in the flat to let her in.

Tom opens the door and she greets him with a smile and a hearty ‘hullo’.  She gives him a kiss on the cheek, picks up Fred who’s run to meet her, then goes into the kitchen to see a harried Daisy attempting to cook.

“Hello, Daisy,” she says cheerfully.  “Where’s your dad?”

“Sandbrook.”  She shoots Ellie a half-defiant, half-devastated look.  “He’s gone to get my stuff.  I don’t want to see my mother, so he left me in charge.”

“And you’re doing a smashing job.”

“I’m burning supper.”

Ellie shrugs.  “I do that all the time.”

Tom makes a face and nods.  “It’s true.  Dad’s the cook in the family.”

He realizes what he’s said and looks stricken, and Ellie’s heart breaks again.

But she gives him a determined smile.  “Yes, he was.  I’ve been trying to improve.”

Daisy gives them a puzzled look and opens her mouth, but she must see something in their faces because she hesitates, then says, “Well, do you think I can salvage any of this, then?”

She lifts the lid and Ellie peeks in and makes a face that makes Daisy giggle.

Ellie says, “How about I run out and get something while you get rid of the evidence?”

~~~~~

They eat take-out from the small restaurant on the corner, and Ellie listens as the kids tell her about their day.  Hardy had left around ten for the two and a half hour drive to Sandbrook, and left them with a key, money and strict orders on how far afield they could wander, especially with Fred.  So they went to the park on the next block, then walked to the small shopping centre Hardy told them about, and went to the cinema.  Both Tom and Daisy look shifty when Ellie asks what movie they’d seen and she has a strong suspicion it was something completely inappropriate for a three-year-old.  She lets it go.  It’s easy enough to find out another way. 

They wash up and are in the living room watching telly when Hardy returns home.  Daisy and Tom help him carry Daisy’s things into the flat before he sits down in the kitchen to finish the leftovers.

He raises an eyebrow as they all troop in and join him at the table. 

“Nothing interesting on the telly, then, aye?” he says with a puzzled scowl.

They solemnly agree, and Daisy and Tom share an amused smirk.

As he eats, he looks at Daisy and says, “Your mum would like you to call her tonight.”

“No.”

Hardy glances at Ellie and she quickly shoos Tom and Fred ahead of her into the living room.  She hears his low growling voice and Daisy’s lighter tones as they talk, Daisy getting steadily louder until finally a chair is scraped back and Ellie hears her say, “Until you tell me the truth, I’m not talking to her and I don’t know why you’d want me to, after everything!”

She storms through the living room, into her bedroom, and slams the door behind her.

Ellie soothes Fred, who’s startled into a brief bout of crying by the sudden noise, then leaves him with Tom and goes into the kitchen.  She leans against the door jamb, arms crossed.  Hardy’s sitting at the table, leaning back in his chair, staring off into the distance with a down-turned mouth.

“Awright,” she says briskly, “care to explain to me what’s going on?”

He looks at her with bewildered eyes and gets to his feet.

~~~~~

They go for a walk, and Ellie listens in disbelief and growing anger as Hardy explains about Tess and Dave and the pendant, about taking the blame so Daisy wouldn’t learn the truth about her mother, and Tess could still have her career.  It had taken Daisy a long time to really speak to him again after the marriage ended, and they hadn’t really started back to each other until after he’d closed the Danny Latimer case.

“After you were somewhat vindicated, you mean, in another high profile murder case.”

“She’s a child, Miller.  If you could have hidden the truth about Joe from Tom, wouldn’t you have done whatever you could to do that?”

“Oh, don’t go trying to compare our situations!”

He rolls his eyes.  “It’s not a competition, for God’s sake!”  They walk in silence for a moment, then Hardy says more quietly, his face pinched, “She’s always been her mother’s.  She loves me, but there’s a special bond between those two.  I couldn’t take that away from her.  Besides, she was only twelve--too young to be told the mother she idolized had potentially destroyed her career because she decided it was more important to get laid than to deliver vital evidence to the police station.  Daisy didn’t forgive me because I solved another murder.  She forgave me because I’m her dad.”

“I wasn’t talking about Daisy.  I was talking about Tess.”

“Tess stayed out of it.”

“Did she?”

Hardy stops and gives her the stoic look he uses when he’s trying to hide his emotions. “Whatever she did during that time doesn’t matter now, does it?  The bigger question is how Daisy found out.”

“Who all knew?”

He blows out a breath.  “Well, me and Dave and Tess, of course, and whoever else they may have told.  Claire, since she stole the pendant.  Possibly Lee, if Claire told him.  Maggie Radcliffe and Ollie Stevens.”

“Maggie and Ollie--?  You mean you told them the truth for that article?”

He nods.  “Ollie never told you?”

“No.  But then, Joe was arrested what? The same day as the article was in the paper?  There wasn’t exactly time for it to come up.  There were bigger things going on.”

He nods again.

“Was it on the case file anywhere?” she asks.

“In our notebooks and our reports.  I didn’t know if we’d ever find enough evidence to take Ashworth to trial again, but if we did, I didn’t want the defense to be able to claim misconduct because we’d falsified police records.  I mean, I took the blame publicly, but the case file is accurate.”

“Did you ever tell your CS?”

“Not directly, and she never questioned me.  I didn’t want to get her involved.  Plausible deniability and all that.”  He shrugs.  “She was good to me.  Tried to keep me on, but the public outrage made it impossible.”

“So how _did_ Daisy find out?”

He shakes his head.  “That’s for tomorrow.”

~~~~~

Hardy

He broaches the subject the next evening after supper, while Miller and Tom do the clearing up in the kitchen with Fred playing at their feet.

“I promised to answer your questions,” he says as he settles on the couch beside her.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were twelve,” he says helplessly. “You needed your mother more than you needed me.”

“I hated you, you know.  For leaving us.  For leaving me.  And people talked, you know.  You and Mum thought I didn’t hear the gossip, but all the kids at school told me how you’d screwed up, how those girls would never get justice, and all because of you.  You let me think you’d messed up and then didn’t have the balls to face the consequences, when all along, it was _Mum_ who didn’t have the balls!”

“Daisy,” he says sharply, “whatever you may be thinking and feeling right now, she is still your mother, and you will speak of her, and to her, with respect.”

He’s never spoken so sharply to her before, and her eyes widen as she flinches.  She rallies, lifting her chin, her mouth set in a stubborn line.

“Even after what she did?”

“What she did, she did to _me_ , because she fell out of love with _me_.  She’s never stopped loving you, and she never will.  I want you to remember that.”

“Did you stop loving her?”

He hesitates, but he’d promised to tell her anything she wanted to know.  “Eventually,” he says finally.  “Not then, and not for a long time after.  But yes.  Eventually.”

He glances towards the kitchen and meets Miller’s sympathetic eyes as she leans against the door jamb, listening. 

He turns back to Daisy.  “How did you find out?”

“I got an e-mail.  Well, several e-mails, actually.”

Hardy frowns.  “An e-mail?  From whom?”

“I don’t know.  It just said it was from a ‘friend’.”  She scowls.  “Don’t look at me like that!  I’m not so naive as to believe some random e-mail from somebody who won’t even use a name!  But the subject lines kept talking about the truth about Sandbrook, and who was really to blame and how my parents were lying to me, so I finally opened one.  It told me everything, and there was a link to the Broadchurch Echo, to that interview they did with you, and a scanned copy of a handwritten note attached, from one of those little notebooks you and Mum always carry around.  It confirmed what the e-mail said.  It was your handwriting, Dad.”

Her eyes fill with tears.

“Awright,” he growls and pulls her against him.  She burrows her head into his shoulder, and he rests his cheek against the top of her head, making soothing noises as she sniffles.

~~~~~

Hardy invites Miller to go for a walk once Daisy’s calmed down.

He takes her to his pub.

They settle at a table and he sees the surprise on the bartender’s face--the same one who sent him death glares when he left with Missy a week ago.  He goes to the bar and orders their drinks and impassively meets the bartender’s cold stare with a bland face and a raised eyebrow.  He doesn’t see Missy and he hasn’t heard from her, and as desperate as he is for a break in the case, he hopes she’s had second thoughts about working the Avenue in an effort to find information.

He sets Miller’s drink in front of her as he sits down.

“Tell me about the case,” he says.

She grimaces.

“That much progress?”

She nods morosely.  “I thought for sure I was going to find something today, because something’s bugging me.  But no.”

“Well, I wasn’t really expecting miracles, Miller.”

She pulls a face, sips her drink, then says, “Who do you think sent the information to Daisy?”

He sighs.  “Somebody in Sandbrook, obviously, if they sent her a scan of my notebook.  Somebody with a hate on for Tess, just as obviously.  I called her earlier and told her what Daisy told me.”

Miller frowns. “So, somebody would have to go into the file room, pull the correct evidence box, take a picture of the correct page in your notebook, and then put everything back before being caught?”

He shrugs.  “That, or log into and search the electronic records, in which case there’ll be a trail.”

“Electronic records?”

“Sandbrook moved to an electronic archive for their files of closed or cold cases.  My notebook would have been scanned and logged in at some point after the initial case fell apart.”

“Pretty stupid, then,” she says.  “Whoever did it is going to be found out pretty quickly.”

“Good,” he growls.  “I hope they make whoever it is very uncomfortable before they’re sacked, with prejudice.  Besides destroying everything a young girl believed about her mother, they’ve violated police protocol.”

Miller gives him a shrewd look.  “Do you really think this is someone who’s angry at Tess?”

He stares into his drink, his head lowered, his mouth set in his usual stern frown.

She waits him out.

Finally, he looks at her, and his dark eyes are steady as he shakes his head.

~~~~~

 


	6. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Stalking behaviour.

Hardy

The next day is Friday, the last day of half-term, and Hardy makes Tom spend it driving around to look at possible schools for Daisy.  It’s not like they have a choice, Hardy tells him, since Miller’s at the police station and Daisy needs to go with him to inspect the schools and tell the administrators what classes she was taking in Sandbrook.

Tom doesn’t want to go, and they have their first real row since Hardy met him.  In the end, Hardy takes a deep breath, scowls and firmly shoos a still-resistant Tom, a disinterested Daisy, and a rambunctious Fred--the only one who seems happy to be doing anything at all--into the car and heads to the first school.  He drives in brooding silence and wonders how the hell he managed to go from being always alone to shepherding three children…while alone.

He’s not impressed with the decor of the first school, although the head teacher seems friendly enough.  The offered classes are similar to what Daisy is already taking, and there’s no issue with taking a tour of the school to inspect the classrooms.  At the end, Hardy shakes the lady’s hand, and tells her he’ll let her know his decision by noon.

As they’re driving to their next appointment, he glances at Daisy and says, “What did you think?”

Her only answer is a shrug as she stares out the side window.

He glances in the rear view mirror at Tom.  “What about you, Tom?”

Tom jumps and gives him a wide-eyed stare.  “What about me what?”

“What did you think of the school?”

He frowns.  “I dunno.  It’s a school.”

“Yes, but what did you think of it?  Was the furniture all right?   Do the classrooms seem big enough?  What did you think about the head teacher?” Daisy turns and gives him an incredulous look.  “You, too, Daisy,” he says.  “You’re the one who’s going to be spending your days there.  Do you think it’ll be a good fit?”

“The rooms are too small,” Tom blurts out.

“That’s a problem, is it?” Hardy asks.

“Well, yah,” Tom says with all the contempt a thirteen-year-old feels for an adult long out of the classroom.  “You’ll feel cramped, Daiz, trust me.”

Daisy rolls her eyes, then nods.  “He’s right, the rooms are too small, and that head teacher didn’t look at me even once.”

Hardy considers their words in silence then nods.  “Awright.  Well, let’s hope the others are better.  Thanks, darlin’.”  He glances again at Tom.  “You, too, Tom.”

Tom ducks his head and looks out the window.

~~~~~

The other two schools are better, and Hardy takes them for lunch where, after some spirited debate, they decide on the second school.  It’s close to the flat and he can easily change the route he takes to work to drop Daisy off in the morning, and best of all, Daisy can start on Monday.

Hardy’s relieved to have it all settled, and even more relieved because Tom’s anger has cooled, Daisy is out of her funk, and Fred is still smiling happily.  His luck holds because they even manage to have something edible on the table by the time Miller returns from the station, although she’s down-hearted because whatever is tugging at her about the case is still eluding her.

As they’re washing up and with the kids safely banished to the living room, Hardy says, “Well, I appreciate your help this week, Miller--or is that being too nice to you?”

She rolls her eyes as she dries dishes.  “I haven’t been that much help, though.  I can’t figure out what we’re missing.”

“A suspect?”

She smacks him with the towel.  “How can we not have a single person of interest?”

He shakes his head.  “He’s smart.  And careful.”  He stops, frowning.  “Very careful.  He can’t be cruising too much.”

“Or he’s just not unusual when he is cruising.”

He shakes his head.

They continue working, the only sound the clinking of dishes, then Miller says thoughtfully, “I think it’s the distances involved that are really bothering me.  What’s he _doing_ , moving along the coast like that?  Is he a lorry driver?”

“Travelling salesman?”

“Cop?”

Hardy shakes his head at that.  “He’d have a partner.”

“Who says he doesn’t?”

He stops and turns to stare at her.  Her own eyes are as wide as his.

“ _Two_ of them?” he says.

“It would explain a lot.  Like how he can so easily transport--”  Miller stops and looks over her shoulder towards the living room, suddenly remembering there are children potentially within earshot.

He’s suddenly struck by the line of her cheek, the shape of her nose, and how young and pretty she looks with her hair loose and curling wildly around her face.  He abruptly averts his gaze before she catches him staring and goes back to washing dishes.

“Two would explain a lot,” he says as he puts a dish on the drying rack then pauses.  “But that makes it even more unbelievable that nobody has seen anything.”

She turns back to him and gives him a thoughtful look.  “But we haven’t asked the women about two blokes, have we?”

“Well, we will now.”

~~~~~

Hardy and Daisy walk Miller and the boys out to the car the next day to see them off.  Miller invites Daisy to visit, but just rolls her eyes at Daisy’s question about whether her dad is included in the invitation or not.

“Depends on how grumpy he is when he’s there,” she says.  “That does remind me, though, Hardy.  You really are invited to visit Broadchurch.  Beth said she’d like to see you again.  To thank you.”

Hardy’s face scrunches into puzzled distaste.  “Thank me?  For what?  Letting Joe get off?”  He gives Tom an apologetic look.  Tom shrugs and looks away.

“I think that had more to do with me than you,” Miller says drily.

“More like the defense team, actually,” Hardy mutters.

Miller grimaces and sighs.  “Beth would appreciate it, I think.  But don’t wear a suit, yah?  Bad memories and all that.”

“Fine,” he growls.

He shakes Tom’s hand, ruffles Fred’s hair and tries to ignore a stab of loneliness as Miller envelops Daisy in a warm hug then gives him a cheerful good-bye and a nod as she gets in the car.

He slings an arm around Daisy’s shoulders and slightly lifts his hand in farewell as Miller drives away.  They both sigh as the car travels out of sight and he looks down at his daughter.

“Well, darlin’, it looks like it’s just you and me.”

“Yah.”

“Are you sure about this?”

She looks up at him, a too serious look on such a young face.  “Not really,” she says then smiles.  “You need an awful lot of looking after, but we’ll figure things out, yah?”

He presses a kiss to the top of her head.  “Yah.”  He turns her around and they stroll back to his building.  “You will have to forgive your mother eventually,” he says.

“Don’t start,” she sighs.

~~~~~

To his surprised relief, they quickly settle into a routine.  By the second week, they’re working smoothly, with Hardy getting up first, showering, and then making breakfast while Daisy grumbles and shuffles to the loo, then dresses.  He drops her at school on his way to the station.  She has strict orders to let him know if she’s going somewhere other than the flat after school, and he makes an effort to get home at an early enough hour to eat dinner with her or to at least spend some time together before she goes to bed.

She’s fifteen, almost sixteen, and he sits her down one evening during the first week and talks honestly to her about his job, that he can’t always come home on time and there will be occasions when he’ll be leaving her on her own for days at a time.  He doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t know anyone in Stonebridge he trusts to stay with her.  Once she’s made friends, and he’s comfortable with them, then she’ll have more options.

She rolls her eyes and tells him she’s been living with two coppers all her life and she _gets_ it.

He warns her that if she causes any trouble, he’ll know about it.

She mutters something about doing her best to keep him out of trouble but it’s a lost cause.

That makes him hug her, and she squirms out of his grip with a sarcastic ‘soppy’ and goes to her room to do homework.

He makes a conscious effort, though, and calls when he’s going to be later than usual.  She rewards him with trying to cook, some days more successfully than others.  He brings cookbooks home for her and tastes everything she puts in front of him, even if they end up getting take-out afterwards.  She promises not to set the smoke detector off anymore after the maintenance lady gives her a stern talking to.  He can’t help but chuckle at the story although Daisy’s mouth is downturned for the rest of the evening.  He puts Daisy’s name on the lease the next day, so the building managers know the flat isn’t always empty when he’s away.

During what he’s already calling—at least to himself--his regular Saturday check-in with Miller, she tells him she’s impressed with how well they’re doing.  He grumbles and mutters, but secretly enjoys the warmth that spreads through him at her words.

At the end of the second week, he’s pleased when Daisy tells him she’s been invited out to the cinema the next afternoon—a Saturday--with a group of kids from her school.  He’s not so pleased when she tells him the group includes boys.  But she’s fifteen, almost sixteen, in a new place, and she needs friends her age and a life of her own.  He reluctantly gives her permission to go and silently wonders if he needs to give her a crash course in self-defense.

He worries too much and he knows it.  But he looks at the pictures of those nine murdered young women every day, and he still sees Pippa in his dreams.

~~~~~

Ellie

Two and a half weeks after her impromptu working holiday in Stonebridge, Ellie’s phone rings.  She sees Hardy’s name and her heart sinks because it isn’t Saturday, and if he’s calling now, it’s because they’ve found another body.

She’s right, except the body’s in Sandbrook.

She in Stonebridge in four hours, and by midnight, she and Hardy and Sal Edwards are in Sandbrook, checking in to the same little motel Ellie remembers so well from when they were chasing after Lee and Claire and Ricky.

At least there are more rooms at the inn this time.  She makes a little joke about how grateful she is for that, since three people in the bed would be even weirder than before.  That earns her an appalled look from Hardy and a confused one from Sal and a very silent trek to their adjoining rooms.

The meeting the next morning with Tess and Dave is tense.  Ellie’s pleased all three are still able to keep it professional, although there’s no mistaking Hardy’s simmering resentment or the slight sneer underlying Dave’s every word to him.  Tess is simply insufferably smug as always.  Ellie raises a mental eyebrow at Tess and Dave and wonders if it’s just their way of protecting themselves from the work they do, just like her overly-cheerful-over-compensation had been hers, and Hardy’s gruff, angry exterior is his.

But there’s little time to ponder her colleagues’ tangled history and she returns her attention to the new case.

Just like with the others, there’s pitifully little evidence.  Patti Johnson, 26, prostitute, drug addict, last seen on March 2nd at approximately two a.m. working her usual territory on the street.  No one noticed what vehicle she got in or when exactly she disappeared.

They inspect where the body was left, an idyllic spot beside the river not far from where Pippa was found.

Through layers of sleep that night, Ellie thinks she hears muffled noises from the adjoining room where Hardy is sleeping, but they’re faint and by the time she’s awake enough, there’s only silence.  He looks haggard the next day, and more short-tempered than ever, which considering his usual level of grumpiness is really saying something. 

After another morning of no progress, he snarls at Dave, snaps at Tess, then turns to her and Sal with a gruff, “Let’s go,” and takes them to where Patti was last seen.

The three of them stand on the sidewalk and she and Sal watch as he peers down the street in one direction, then turns and stares in the other.

“What are we doing here?” she asks.

“We’ve combed through the dump sites,” he growls, “but we haven’t looked--I mean _really_ looked--at the places these women were last seen.”  He turns to Sal.  “Take pictures.”

She scrambles her camera out of her bag, then hesitates.  “Anything in particular, sir?”

“The buildings.  The nooks and crannies.  The people on the street.”

“Do you want us to come out here at two in the morning, Hardy?  Start taking pics of every punter who cruises by?” Ellie knows she’s being sarcastic but she’s just as frustrated as he is and he’s always been an easy target to use to diffuse her anger.

“Not a bad idea, Miller,” he says absently and starts to walk.  He looks carefully at everything, sometimes telling Sal to make sure she takes a picture of a particular building or a section of the street from a certain angle, gently guiding her into position if she doesn’t quite get it correct.

The street is dingy and dirty, with boarded up windows on tired looking buildings with faded signs advertising long obsolete goods. There are some rare beacons of hope:  a couple of tidy little cottages, brightly whitewashed with neatly trimmed hedges, while across the street is something that had once been a pub but was now a church-run shelter offering free counselling.  Even with those bright spots, the overall impression is one of despair and exhaustion, and Ellie finds it all enormously disheartening.

They walk the length of the street, then explore the blocks on either side of it.  Hardy’s still scowling by the time they make their way back to the car, but now he’s more thoughtful than angry, and Ellie wonders what’s going through his head.  Sal watches him with all the fascination of a mouse watching a cat and he makes the effort to smile at her as he takes the camera and scrolls through the pictures.  Ellie feels a sharp stab of resentment that he treats Sal far more gently than he had ever treated her.

“We need the same kinds of pictures from each city where the women disappeared,” he growls, breaking into her thoughts.  “We can share these with the other DIs so they know what we need.  Once we get all of them, we can compare them.  You never know what wee thing will crack the case.”  He slides Ellie a sidelong glance.  “Like the colour of a floor, right, Miller?”

Ellie slowly smiles.  “Right.”  She gives him a shrewdly assessing look.  “What are you thinking?”

He’s silent as they get into the car and pull out into the street.  Ellie exchanges an exasperated glance with Sal, who just shrugs and goes back to watching him.

“Nobody saw any of the women get into a car,” he says so suddenly both women jump.  “Maybe it’s because they _didn_ _’_ _t_.”

~~~~~

They return to Stonebridge and Hardy sends Sal and Webster to take pictures of Tom Avenue.  He also gets on the phone with the other DIs, sends them the pictures from Sandbrook as examples, and soon they’re getting pictures of each victim’s last known location.

“I can’t stay,” Ellie says regretfully a few hours later as Sal and Webster pore over the photos.  “I’ve left the boys for too long as it is.”

He frowns up at her.  He looks haggard in this light, she thinks, and he’s almost as scruffy as the first time they met.  She doesn’t think he’s shaved since Patti Johnson’s body was found.  She thinks he probably hasn’t really slept, if his sunken, reddened eyes are anything to go by.

She frowns.  “You need to go home, too.  Sleep.  Spend some time with Daisy, find out what she’s been up to since you’ve been gone.  With luck, she had a wild party in your flat and has destroyed all that ratty furniture.”

His expression doesn’t change.  “The maintenance company would be there in about thirty seconds if Daisy had a party,” he growls.  “That crew has eyes and ears everywhere.  I’d be more worried about Tom, if I were you.”

She smiles, a wide, toothy grin.  “He’s with Lucy.”

“I rest my case.”

Her smile disappears and her eyes pop open wide.  “Oh, my God, you’re right!  What was I thinking?”

He suddenly grins and the way his face lights up with warmth and charm still shocks her and she stares.

“Will you drop by the flat and see Daisy?” he says, his smile leaving as quickly as it appeared and she feels somehow bereft now that it’s gone again.

She glances at her watch.  “Well, I was hoping for a place to sleep.  It’s only two and a half hours, but I’m knackered.”

He raises an eyebrow.  “Daisy’s cooking is still unfortunately hit and miss.”

“That’s what take-out is for,” she says breezily.

“Aye, so it is.  Come on, then.”  He rises to his feet and Ellie notices that he seems endlessly tall today as he unfolds from the chair.  As she follows him out of the station she wonders where that thought had come from.

The three of them spend a pleasant evening together, and the next morning she watches as a heavy-eyed Hardy shuffles around the kitchen making breakfast while in his pajamas with his still-scruffy face and hair sticking up in spikes.  Daisy drags herself into the kitchen, throws herself into her chair with a groan, and Ellie thinks all she’s missing is the scruffy face.

The sight of father and daughter communicating in monosyllables and grunts and growls amuses Ellie so much she makes the excuse of packing and thankfully makes it to the bedroom Hardy had given up for her before the laughter escapes.

She’s calmer when she returns to the kitchen but the sight of them eating breakfast in morose silence almost sets her off again.  She sits at the place set for her and begins to chatter loudly and cheerfully while Daisy and Hardy watch her with identically appalled fascination.  This time she can’t hide her laughter, while at the same time there’s an odd squeeze on her heart.  It’s a strange mix of happiness for them, and a stab of loneliness that she doesn’t understand, except perhaps it’s because she’s missing her own children.

The thought gets her to her feet.  “I better get going,” she says.  “Sorry, you’re on your own with the clearing up this morning.”

Hardy and Daisy walk her to the door.  Ellie opens her arms and Daisy reluctantly goes into them.  As Ellie hugs her, she says, “Don’t forget, you’re coming to Broadchurch for a visit, yah?”

Daisy nods, then steps back and says, “You’re almost as soppy as Dad, you know that?”  She sniffs.  “See you later,” she says and goes to her bedroom.

Ellie turns a wide, amused smile on Hardy.  “Soppy?  _You?_ ”

He rolls his eyes.  “Go home, Miller,” he growls and she chuckles as he opens the door.

“I’ll send you the pictures as soon as I get to the station,” he says.

She nods.  “I meant what I said to Daisy, you know, about coming to Broadchurch.  You can always come, too, I suppose, if you must.  Take a break from the case.”

He gives her a steady look.  “Well, Easter holidays will be here in a couple of weeks,” he says.  “I probably won’t be able to get away, but I can always send Daisy down on her own for a few days.  I know you’d take good care of her.”

Ellie’s surprised at the intensity of the flash of disappointment she feels, but quickly rallies and gives him a determined smile.  “Of course.  That would be lovely.”

Silence descends and she fidgets under his dark, unwavering gaze.

“Well, awright,” she says, overly bright, gripping and ungripping the strap of her purse, “I’m off, then.  Call me with updates, yah?”

He ducks his head and nods, running a hand through his hair, making it stick up even more.

She smiles and slips out the door.

~~~~~

Hardy

He’s a little deflated as he closes the door after Miller.  It’s something he’s getting used to, this emptiness that returns with a vengeance once she leaves or they hang up the phone.  He only hopes she has no idea how much he looks forward to seeing and talking to her.  She pities him enough, thinks he’s socially backwards enough, she doesn’t need any more proof of it.

He rubs his hands over his face and scowls, because the fact that he really _is_ socially backwards doesn’t help anything.  Besides, none of it matters.  She’s only back in his life because of this case, and she’s staying for Daisy, but she doesn’t really need _him_ for either of those things.  He needs to remember that before he does or says something even more stupid than he has already.  He thinks of Becca Fisher in his hotel room and cringes.

His thoughts are thankfully interrupted by the ringing of his phone and he hurries to answer it.

“What?” he growls.

“Somebody tipped off the media,” his CS says without preamble.  His spare, direct approach is one thing Hardy appreciates about him.  “You need to get in here ASAP because you’ll be going in front of the cameras about fifteen minutes after that.”

~~~~~

As he expected, the media is relentless, and quickly dubs the perpetrator the South Coast Killer.  Not the most creative of names, but better than some of the other nicknames they’ve come up with for serial killers.

The most annoying part this time around, other than the fact that he has to spend so much time dealing with bloody reporters rather than working the case, is that _he_ quickly becomes the story, rather than the victims or even the killer.  It is, after all, his third high profile case in just under three years, in three different locations.  He’s either a glory hound or the unluckiest DI in the history of the English police force.  Which one he’s portrayed as depends on how angry he’d made the reporters in the previous cases, or which ones he’s pissed off on this one.

He slaps down the latest paper that rakes over the Sandbrook and Danny Latimer cases again, criticizing his police work and the entire debacle surrounding Sandbrook’s stolen evidence that caused that case to collapse the first time around.  The article hints that while he later claimed to have taken the blame for one of his Detective Sergeants, it appeared to be a weak and shameful attempt to reclaim his own reputation.  Not that it had been stellar before, of course, the paper continues, either professionally or personally, and goes on to once again label him the Worst Cop in Britain.

He drops the paper with a growl and reaches for his tea.

Bloody wankers.

He looks up as Daisy rushes into the kitchen, phone in hand.  He puts his tea down and sits up straight when he sees the strange look on her face.

“You need to see this, Dad.”

Hardy frowns as he takes the phone and looks at the screen.

““A video?” he says and holds the phone out to her.  “I’ll watch it later, darlin’.”

“No!  You’ll watch it now!”

His eyes widen at her tone and she bounces a little in frustration.

“For God’s sake, Dad!  It’s _you_!”

He gives her a blank stare, then starts the video.

It opens on a dark, empty bathroom seen at an angle from above, with the door and sink in the centre of the frame.  Music starts as the door opens, the light goes on, and a man walks in to the small room, dressed in a rumpled light blue shirt and dress pants, head bowed, obviously exhausted.  Hardy’s jaw drops and his eyes widen as he tries to understand what he’s seeing. 

Because Daisy’s right:  it _is_ him.

His vision blurs and the room spins in a way he hasn’t felt since his surgery.  He feels like a million ants are crawling on his skin, and it only gets worse as on screen he undoes his shirt cuffs and, in slow motion synchronized to the beat of the music, he unbuttons his shirt and strips it off, then does the same with the rest of his clothes until he’s fully naked.  The video goes back to normal speed as he turns and steps into the shower.

Hardy groans a little as the camera angle changes to inside the shower where, still at normal speed, he turns on the shower then moves beneath it, lifting his face to allow the water to cascade over his head and down his body, all of which can be seen in the frame.

He stops the video there and closes his eyes, because the room is spinning too wildly, he doesn’t think he’s breathed in the last two minutes, and he’s abruptly remembered _everything_ he does in the shower and if that’s where the video is going, he doesn’t want Daisy anywhere nearby when he watches the rest of it.

But the main reason he needed to stop is because the video was made in the bathroom of _this fucking flat_.

And if there are cameras in the bathroom...

He abruptly stands and pulls Daisy close.

“Grab only what you absolutely need,” he murmurs in her ear, “then come with me.”

~~~~~

Hardy learns the true meaning of paranoia in the next few hours.

He leaves his phone, because he’s not sure if whoever is doing this has somehow put a tracer on it.  He makes Daisy do the same.  He doesn’t take his car because he’s not sure if someone has a GPS tracker on it and instead walks them rapidly down the street, his arm wrapped protectively around Daisy’s shoulders.  Then he remembers the postcard and finds himself watching everyone and everything, wondering if it’s him, or her, or those two over there.

He stops and buys them both new, pay-as-you-go cell phones before they go to the police station.  He puts Daisy in his office and closes the door, then goes directly to his CS without speaking to anyone.  Judging from the way they’re looking at him, they already know about it anyway.

His CS is in a rage because whoever posted the video used Hardy’s name as the screen name, then sent the links to all the traditional media outlets and posted it to every social media site known to man, woman and child.

It takes some convincing and outraged shouting at a volume he hasn’t used since Claire gave him the pendant, but the CS finally believes him and dispatches SOCO to the flat.

His boss then leans back in his chair and glares.  “What are you going to do now?” he snaps.

“I going to get my daughter somewhere safe,” Hardy snarls, his burr thickened by rage and fear, “then I’m going to come back and find the sick bastard who’s murdering those women, and while I’m doing that, I’m going to find the sick bastard who’s doing this shit to me.”  He pauses, then says, “I also need to borrow a car.”

The CS digs out his keys.  “Where are you going to take her?”

~~~~

Almost a year after he left, Hardy drives back into Broadchurch.

He still hates it.

He still hates the air and the never-ending sky, the endless ocean and the bloody smiling bloody people, but if Daisy won’t go back to her mother--and she’s already flatly refused that option--then this is the best he can do.

He pulls up to Miller’s house with a scowl.

For now.

~~~~~


	7. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Discussion about stalking and stalking behaviour.

Ellie

Ellie opens the door before they’re even half-way up the walk.  Hardy takes one look at her expression and flushes, but to his credit, his gaze doesn’t waver.

“Is this your doing?” she demands.

He rolls his eyes.  “Would I be here begging for help if it were?”

Her mutinous expression doesn’t soften until she looks at Daisy.  Ellie gives her a smile and says, “The loo’s down the hall...although maybe you’d rather not think about loos right now.”  She makes a face and Daisy gives the ghost of a giggle.  Even Hardy’s lips twitch.  “Tom and Fred are in the back and they’re going to take you over to our friend Beth’s place.  Her daughter, Chloe, is about your age, and we thought you might like to meet.  We’ll be over in a little while.”

Daisy glances from Ellie to her father and back again.  “He didn’t do this,” she says clearly.

Ellie’s smile disappears.  “I know he didn’t.  But a wise man once told me never to trust, so I have to ask the questions.”

Daisy doesn’t smile.  “No,” she says, “you don’t.  Not about this.  Not about _him_.”

Hardy puts a comforting hand at the base of Daisy’s neck.  “Don’t worry about me, darlin’.  Miller’s just as upset by all this as we are and she needs to let her anger out.  She doesn’t mean half of what she says to me, anyway, and this is no different.  Go on.  Go with Tom and Fred, meet Beth and Chloe and Beth’s wee bairn, and do your best not to worry.”

He gives her a reassuring smile and she reluctantly leaves them.

Ellie holds her tongue until she hears the back door close then rounds on him.

“For God’s sake, Hardy!  Why didn’t you tell me things were escalating with your stalker?”

“I didn’t know they were escalating until Daisy showed me the video this morning!  My God, why would I suspect someone put cameras in me own bathroom?”

He follows as she stomps into the kitchen and starts opening then banging shut cupboard doors as she rages, spilling out an almost incoherent stream of words calling him everything from moron to idiot to wanker to knob and beyond, until she finally slams the last one shut and yells, “And I have nothing to fucking drink in this house!”

She sees him move as if to put a comforting hand on her shoulder before he hesitates and instead crosses his arms as he leans against one of the cupboards.

“Why are you so upset?” he asks and his calm demeanour makes Ellie want to scream even louder at him.  She grips the sink and leans over it, breathing heavily while he waits in silence.

“I used that loo,” she whispers.  “So did Tom and Fred.”

“I know.  Why do you think I’m here?  Why do you think I brought Daisy here?”  His voice begins to rise and his accent thickens as he straightens and begins stalking around the kitchen. “Do you think you’re the only one who loves their children?  Worries about them?  She’s been living with me, living her life in front of cameras I didn’t even know existed!  I don’t _care_ if some anonymous sick bastard wants to plaster my naked arse all over the Internet, but that little girl is all I have!  She’s the only good thing I’ve ever done and I will do whatever I have to do to protect her.  I almost ruined my career for her, I ignored her mother’s infidelities so I could stay with her.  I will die for her.  I will kill for her.  And whoever this bastard is will find out just how far I’ll go if he decides to target her!”

He stops, looming in front of her, eyes wild, teeth bared in a feral snarl, chest heaving from the fury of his feelings.  Ellie stares as she presses back against the cupboard.  For the first time since they met, she genuinely feels Hardy is a dangerous man, and she remembers his words when they were investigating Danny’s death:  everyone’s capable of murder, given the right circumstances.

She’s just discovered what those circumstances are for Alec Hardy.

She clears her throat and says, “It’s not your _arse_ that’s plastered all over the Internet.”

He flushes a deep red and closes his eyes as he deflates. He presses a hand to his forehead and groans.

“Well, then,” she says briskly, “let’s get started.”

He opens his eyes and stares at her with a puzzled frown.

“What?” Ellie says. “Did you think I was just going to be a child-minder service?  We’re detectives, Hardy, let’s fucking detect.”

~~~~~

They go to Beth’s place first where she greets him with a tentative half-smile.

“I wanted to see you again,” she says as she leads them into the living room where the kids are gathered, “but this isn’t quite how I expected it.”

He gives her a faint smile and shrugs.

“What are we going to do now, Dad?” Daisy asks.

“We’re going to get you set up here in Broadchurch.”  He sighs.  “I don’t know if we’ll be able to get you into the school or what this is going to do to your schooling.  I’m going to keep you here until the end of the term, unless...” he trails off, lips pressed tightly together.

“Unless something else happens,” she says flatly.  “I get it.  We already had this argument on the way down here.  I don’t want to leave you alone, Dad.  They’re after you, not me, and you need somebody to watch out for you in Stonebridge.”

“We did have this argument on the way here, and the discussion is over,” Hardy says flatly, and Daisy crosses her arms and throws herself against the back of the couch with a huff.

Beth’s eyes dart from Hardy to Ellie to Daisy and back again.  “Is this going to get dangerous?  I mean...” she trails off.

Hardy gives her a steady, stoic stare.  “I don’t know.  I can’t make any promises because I don’t know who’s behind all this or what they’re trying to achieve.  I’ll go to the leasing agent in the morning and see what’s--ouch!”

He turns wide startled eyes to Ellie, rubbing the spot on his arm she’d just smacked.

“You’ll do no such thing,” she snaps.  “Daisy will stay with me and the boys.”

He scowls.  “Come on, Miller!  We don’t know what this--” he stops, glances at the avidly listening kids, then continues, “ _person_ is capable of doing next.”

“Well, we know it’ll be more difficult for them to do anything if Daisy’s surrounded by people and not off living on her own somewhere.  We’ll have some work to do but I think we can clear out the attic and get a bed in there for you, Daisy.  Not ideal, but extraordinary circumstances and all that.”  She turns a dark glare on Hardy.  “No arguments.  You know it’s useless anyway.”

He scowls, looks at Daisy and nods.

~~~~~

They leave the kids at Beth’s and head to the shops to buy poster paper, pens, wine and scotch before returning to Ellie’s house.

They tack up the poster paper and pour the wine before Ellie pulls the cap off a pen and says, “Right.  Who are the likely suspects?”

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“Maybe it’ll be faster to start with those who like you, since that’s such a short list.”

He rolls his eyes.  “I love you, too, Miller.”

Even with the heavy sarcasm, the words rock her to her toes.  She freezes then turns to him with a determined smile.  “In that case, I guess I should go to the top of the list.”

“ _You_?  Don’t be daft.”  He frowns, then says, “Awright.  Let’s start with this:  what are the different kinds of stalkers?”

Ellie nods and says as she writes on the paper, “Current or former domestic partners.”

“Enemies.”

“Friends, acquaintances, co-workers.”

“Obsessed strangers.  Someone who wants a relationship with me or thinks they already have one.”

“Somebody obsessed with somebody else, and you’re standing in their way,” Ellie continues, writing busily.

“Or I’ve hurt their object of obsession in some way.”

“People you see all the time.”

“People I never see at all.”

They stop, step back and look at the paper.

“Right,” Ellie says.  “Let’s start slotting the most likely people into each category.”  She writes ‘Tess’ under the domestic partner category and gives him a slightly challenging look.  “Anyone else?”

He shakes his head.

“Any girlfriends in the last year?”

“No.”

“Any one-night stands?  Not really a domestic partner but in the same realm, I suppose.”

“No.”

“What?  None?”

He ducks his head and looks away.  She grins at his discomfort.

“When’s the last time you had sex, Hardy?” she asks and is rewarded with a glare.

“The people who hate me will be straight-forward,” he says, firmly changing the subject.

Ellie’s still grinning as she turns back to the board.  “Where do you want to start?”

“With the most obvious:  Claire, Lee, Ricky, Joe.”

Ellie writes.  “Anyone else?”

“Not recently.  We can go back farther if none of those are viable suspects.”

“Right.  Friends, co-workers, acquaintances.”

“Dave and Webster,” he says promptly.

“Sal,” Ellie adds as she writes it down.

“Oh, come on, Miller!  Not wee Sal!”

She turns and points a warning finger at him.  “Don’t trust.  Besides, she’s a bit of a hacker, remember?  She could have easily gotten into Sandbrook’s electronic files to find the notes about Tess and Dave and sent them to Daisy.  Making that video would have been child’s play for her.”

He frowns and nods morosely.

“Anyone else?” Ellie asks.

“Well, add Missy in there.”

“Who’s Missy.”

“She’s a confidential informant.”

“Oh?” Ellie says as she writes the name down.

“I haven’t seen her for a while,” Hardy says, “and she’s not really _my_ confidential informant.  She approached me in the pub months ago, then I didn’t see her again until a few weeks back, when she offered to work Tom Avenue at the times our victims went missing.  See if she notices anything suspicious.”

Ellie spins around and gapes.  “She’s a prostitute?”

“Appears to be, yah.”

“I thought you said no one-night stands!  Or do you think two nights with a prostitute don’t count?”

He rolls his eyes.  “I didn’t sleep with her, Miller!  For God’s sake, I’m a police officer!”

Ellie gives him a speaking look then turns back to the board.  “Anyone else you can think of?” she says.

“Well, other than every person I may have spoken with or passed on the street?  No.”

“That’s the stranger category,” she says with forced cheerfulness.

“Aye,” he says with a sigh and comes to stand beside her, his hands shoved into his pockets.

They stare at the list of names in silence, then Hardy asks, very quietly, “Have you watched it?”

Ellie turns to look at him.  He’s staring straight ahead, his mouth pressed into a tight line, his jaw clenched.  He’s standing with his legs a little apart, braced to weather the storm breaking over him. She wonders where that unconscious posture comes from, if it’s something he was born with, or if it’s something he learned to do when he realized Tess was having an affair, or when the Sandbrook case fell apart, or when he was told how ill he really was.

For a split second, she considers lying, sparing him that embarrassment, but as quickly as she thinks it she knows she could never do that.  If there is one thing she’s clung to after Danny’s death, after Joe’s arrest, during the trial, it’s that Hardy will always, always tell her the truth--when he decides to speak, that is—no matter how difficult or heart-shattering that truth may be.  She couldn’t—she wouldn’t—offer him anything less.

“Not all of it.  I stopped once the shower started,” she says, and shifts uncomfortably although she doesn’t look away.  He closes his eyes, and there’s something achingly vulnerable about the long sweep of thick lashes resting against the curve of his cheek.  He takes a deep breath, opens his eyes and looks at her.

“I didn’t do this to myself,” he says firmly.

“I never really thought you did,” she says, surprised.

That causes his mouth to quirk in a soft smile.  “What have I always told you about trust?”

She doesn’t smile, her eyes serious.  “Yah?  You brought your daughter here, to me.  How do you know I’m not the one doing this?”

He gives her a look of appalled contempt.  “I’ve already told you not to be daft,” he growls and his Scottish accent seems thicker than ever.

“Seriously, Hardy.”

“You won’t even give me a hug,” he says, “I doubt you’d waste your time editing video of my naked arse.”

She pulls a face and nods, and a flash of something that might be hurt crosses his face, but it’s gone so quickly she decides she must have imagined it.

“No, I wouldn’t,” she says.  “There’s something particularly sick about recording somebody without their knowledge.  I sincerely hope I’ve never been, or will be, that... _disturbed_.”

They stand in silence, pondering the list of suspects they’d created.

“When are you going back to Stonebridge?” she asks.

“Tomorrow night, if I can get Daisy settled by then.”

“Where are you going to stay when you get back?”

“My flat.”  He gives her an angry, challenging look.  “I’m not being spooked out of my home, Miller.”

“But how can you live there?”

“SOCO’s pulling it apart as we speak.”  He pauses and returns his attention to the list of suspects and says, “Although I’m thinking I might invest in some extra wallpaper and put a few extra layers of that shit over every inch of the walls.  And ceilings.”

She gives him a glimmer of a smile.  “Maybe set up curtains around the bed?”

“Burn the furniture.”

“Bleach everything you own.”

“Twice.”

Ellie snickers and Hardy turns and gives her a rueful smile.  She sobers, her heart clenching at the bewildered expression in his eyes.

“We’ll find him,” she says firmly.

Now there is only absolute certainty in his face as he says, “I know.”

~~~~~

Hardy

Tom gives up his bed for Daisy and bunks in with Fred while Hardy tries to settle on the sofa.   Every time he closes his eyes, he feels the water closing over his head and a phantom ache in his arms and he jerks awake as he begins choking.  He doesn’t want to wake anyone, and even though they’re upstairs, he doesn’t feel up to the task of soothing his worried daughter about this along with everything else that’s going on.  He’s the dad, after all.  He needs to protect her.

He finally gives up chasing sleep and stares at the ceiling, wondering when and where and how someone managed to put cameras in his flat.  It’s only slightly better than wondering what they’re planning and when they’ll strike next.

He rubs weary hands over his face, and groans softly.  Thank God they’ve only been focused on embarrassing him.  So far.  He suspects they sent the information to Daisy to make him look like a fool in her eyes.  The fact she reacted by moving in with him was most likely unexpected because having Daisy with him had made him happier than he’d been in years.

‘Happiness’ is definitely not this person’s intent.

He heaves a quiet sigh and rolls off the sofa.  He walks to the windows and looks out from behind the curtains and wonders if whoever-it-is is outside, watching the house.  He shakes his head, because that thought has guaranteed he won’t sleep.  He hesitates then grabs his glasses, walks into Miller’s cubby-hole of an office and closes the door.  He logs on to the computer, finds the video and sits and stares, unmoving, at the screen.

He finally takes a deep breath and clicks play.

~~~~~

It’s mortifying and horrifying and clearly cobbled together from videos recorded over a period of time, and it does imply _everything_ he does in a shower, which makes him burn with humiliation.  Yet it’s also not as explicit as he’d feared.  Under different circumstances, it might even be described as artistic.  Under _these_ circumstances, though, it is, literally, a crime.

But now the agony of the unknown is over and it’s time to be a detective.  He plays it again, this time looking for clues, something to tell him when the different videos might have been taken, and which might then give him some idea of how long he’s been observed without his knowledge.

That’s where Miller finds him an hour later, hunched over the desk, eyes blinking owlishly behind his glasses when she opens the door and scowls.

“Really?” she demands.

“I think I’ve narrowed it down,” he says, then frowns.  “What time is it?”

“Four!  In the morning!”

“Well, I knew it was morning, Miller.  What are you doing up?”

“If you must know, I needed to use the loo, then I checked on the boys and Daisy, then I came downstairs for a drink of water.  I would have used the lights if I’d known you were in here rather than sleeping on the sofa like a sane person!  I wouldn’t have stubbed my toe, then, either.”

“Well, that explains your mood,” he mutters and turns back to the computer.

He can hear her teeth grinding so he’s rather impressed at the tight calm in her voice when she speaks again.

“Seriously, Hardy, you should be sleeping.  Besides getting Daisy settled tomorrow, you want to leave for Stonebridge, too, and God knows what’s going to be waiting for you there.”

“Don’t fuss, Miller.”

“You are such a bloody knob,” she growls, then frowns.  “You’ve got what narrowed down?”

“You need more sleep,” he says, “you almost missed that.  A time frame for when the videos were taken.”

“Based on what?” she asks curiously, tying the sash of her housecoat more securely as she peers over his shoulder at the computer screen.  “I mean, it certainly won’t be your clothes—you always wear the same damn thing!”

“You want to know about this or not?”

“Fine.”

He hits play, and they watch him walk into through the door, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion, and Hardy pauses the video.

“There have only been a handful of cases that have left me looking like that.”

Ellie gives him an incredulous look.  “You _always_ look like that!”

“ _Here_ , Miller!  While I was here!  I was also dying, in case you hadn’t noticed, and I’m still amazed I made it through.  But Stonebridge is different.  I think this was recorded before Daisy arrived, because since then, while I’ve been working hard, I’ve been making an effort to be home for her, taking care of myself and at least pretending to sleep.”

“Unlike tonight.”

He huffs an impatient sigh and turns to look at her, and is startled by how close she is.  He allows himself to admire the little crinkles at the corners of her eyes as she glowers at him before saying, “I already told you not to fuss, and shouldn’t you be in bed, too?”

She hunches her shoulders up in a defensive posture, then mutters, “I can’t sleep.  I keep wondering if it’s Joe, if this is his way of announcing he’s back.  What if this is some convoluted way of getting to me and the children?  So he can get custody.”

“I don’t see you in the video, Miller,” Hardy says firmly.

“But it was released on the Internet as if you were posting it.  And everyone knows we work closely together.  The company I keep, and all that.”

“We’ll focus on Joe and Tess first, awright?  Either clear them or not, and go from there.”

She presses her lips together and nods.

“If we can narrow down when the videos were made,” he continues, “that’s going to help.”  He shrugs at her questioning look.  “There’s obviously more than one day included here based on my beard, or lack of one, but most of it seems to be one continuous recording.  I think most of it was shot after we found Marney’s body, but before Daisy arrived.”  He pauses, frowning at his face on the screen.  “Or even the day she arrived, because I’d just worked three days straight on a double homicide and I was pretty knackered by the time I finally got to bed that night.  But I hadn’t been out of my clothes in three days and a shower was beyond necessary.  I even managed to scare off the station’s cleaning lady before she came into my office, apparently from smell alone.”  He shakes his head, thinking he must be tired if he’s rambling like this.  “So that puts us anywhere from early December to mid-February.”

“But we don’t know for sure,” Miller says.

“No.  But it gives us a place to start.”  He taps one finger on the desk.  “I don’t know if it’s possible to get any information off the video itself, but I have somebody I can call for help.”

“They’ll be looking into that in Stonebridge, won’t they?”

“I don’t know who to trust in Stonebridge,” he mutters.  “Besides, this isn’t high priority when compared to our other cases.”

“You just don’t want to wait for other people to do their jobs.”

“Would _you_?”

~~~~~

The morning is spent talking to the school and finagling a place for Daisy, then cajoling Chloe’s tutor, Tabitha Jones, to make room for Daisy among her other students.  Hardy thinks it was his fervent pleading that finally made the pretty woman change her mind.  He doesn’t mind.  He would do anything to make sure Daisy’s future isn’t impacted by this second disruption in her home life in as many months.

Then he calls Alistair Murray, the same man he’d called upon to examine Tom’s laptop a lifetime or two ago, and asks if he can examine the video and see what, if anything, can be found out.  After some commiseration and good-natured, black-humored teasing, Murray becomes very serious and promises to see what he can do.

Daisy’s in the kitchen doing school work, grumbling that Tabitha doesn’t waste time, and Hardy is just finishing checking in with Webster when Miller returns home with the boys.  He pokes his head out of the living room, phone to his ear, and nods hello.  Fred smiles widely and rushes to him, arms held high.  Hardy tells Webster to hold on, then bends down and scoops Fred up, perching him on his hip before he goes back to his phone call.  He wanders back into the living room, finishes the conversation with Webster, and turns his attention to Fred.

He’s smiling at the wee boy, asking about his day and listening to the babbling reply when he realizes they’re no longer alone.  He turns his head and surprises an odd look on Miller’s face.  His smile turns into a questioning frown, but Miller just shakes her head and says, “How was your day?”

“Productive,” he says.  “Yours?”

“Same.”

They stand in awkward silence, and Hardy’s frown deepens because there’s a certain tension in the air and he’s not sure what’s causing it.  He’s rifling through his admittedly limited social skills to determine what faux pas he could have possibly made since they came home, then remembers Joe was a stay-at-home dad.  Perhaps seeing him with Fred in her own house is bringing up bitter-sweet memories.

He softens.

“I’ll be getting out of your hair tonight,” he says.

“Oh,” she says and frowns.  “Why don’t you go back in the morning?  You have no place to stay if you go back tonight.”

“They’re finished with the flat.”

She cocks her head and gives him that look that tells him she thinks he’s lost his mind.  Again.    “Really.  And what did they find?”

He glances at Fred, still perched on his hip.  He presses a kiss to the boy's chubby cheek then sets him down.  “Why don’t you go find Tom and cousin Daisy?” he says, and shoos him out the door and down the hall towards the kitchen.  He returns to where Miller is standing in the middle of the room, hands on her hips.

“They found where the cameras were in the bathroom.”

“Were?  Everything’s gone, then?”

“Aye.  They didn’t find anything anywhere else.”

“You think they missed something?”

“Maybe.”  He pushes his hands into his pockets and ducks his head.

“Stay until the weekend,” Miller says brusquely, “and then we’ll all go back with you and tear the flat apart.”

“I don’t want anyone else in that flat until I know it’s safe.”

“For God’s sake, Hardy! You don’t need to deal with this on your own!”

“I’m not.  I have you.”  She rolls her eyes at the hopeful half-smile he gives her.  “Come on, Miller.  We both know we have to keep the children away from all of this, and I won’t have any of them in the flat until I know there are no more hidden eyes and ears.  Or at least I’ve managed to cover them all up.”

“You know, I’ve learned it’s a lot easier to paint and paper when you have help.  Tom and I are pros, now.”

He shakes his head.  “No.  Besides, I need to return the car to my CS.”

Miller looks at him with a challenge in her eyes, and Hardy braces himself for further arguments.  To his surprised relief, she just hums and says, “Dinner first?”

“Oh, aye,” he says.  “Besides, I still have to soothe Daisy.  She’s been fighting with me all day.”

~~~~~

He wins the argument with Daisy by simply walking out to the car after dinner.  Daisy follows, with Miller and Tom hovering in the front yard and he’s suddenly, fiercely grateful his girl will have people there for her after he drives away.

“Stay here until they catch him,” Daisy begs again.

“I can’t, darlin’, you know that.  We talked about it on the way here and for most of the day.  I still have a job to do, and I’m not going to let whoever is doing this force me away from my life.”

“Then take me back with you!”

He cups Daisy’s face and says, dark eyes wide and intent, “I’m at work all day, Daisy, and you’re alone and vulnerable.  Here in Broadchurch, there’s a whole network of people who will watch out for you.”

“This guy doesn’t want me, Dad, so who’s going to watch out for _you_?”

“I’m fine,” he growls. “You know me.  I’ve been in worse spots and I’ve always made it through.  I’ll be back next weekend and I’ll force you to spend so much time with me you’ll be begging me to leave again, just like when you were in Sandbrook.”  He gives her a reassuring smile.  “I’ll give you a ring when I get to the flat, yah?”

Daisy throws herself against him and he enfolds her in his arms, wishing this was all it ever took to make everything all right and to protect her from the world.

“I love you,” she says in a tear-filled voice.

“I love you, too, darlin’,” he whispers.

They stand in a mute agony of fear and grief before Daisy sniffs and says, “If you let anything happen to you, I’ll never forgive you.”

He smiles, cheek resting against the top of her head.  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You should probably let go now.”

“Never.”

“It’s going to be tough to leave if you’re still hugging me.”

He chuckles and slowly releases her. 

“I meant what I said about anything happening to you,” Daisy says, giving a determined shake of her head and wiping a tear off her cheek.

“I know.”  He hesitates, then says, “I think you should call your mother.  You don’t need to go through this alone.”

Daisy glares.  “For all we know, she’s the one behind all this.”

“ _Tess_?” he scoffs while sending a lightning glance at Miller.  “She wouldn’t need to go to all this effort to embarrass me--she knows all my secrets, including all those tragic wardrobe choices I made while we were dating.”  He’s rewarded with a small smile.  He glances again at Miller and says, “We’ll look into it.  If I can prove to you that it isn’t Tess, will you call her?  Offer her an olive branch?”

She huffs a put-upon sigh.  “Maybe.  But no promises.”

“Awright.  Now go on back to Miller.  I’ll ring you tonight, and every day.”

Daisy nods and reluctantly steps away.

He opens the door then looks at his daughter, and behind her, Miller and Tom and wee Fred, held in Tom’s arms, and he hesitates.  He’s not looking forward to returning to Stonebridge to face, alone, whatever happens next.

Then he remembers walking into the hospital with nothing but a small bag of clothes and submitted to a surgery he truly believed he would not survive.  If he had the courage to do that, he thinks, then he has the courage to do this.

He gives them all a small smile, lifts his hand in farewell, and gets into the car.

~~~~~


	8. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: aftermath of stalking behaviour; brief accusation of rape/kidnapping.

Ellie

They watch as Hardy’s car turns the corner.  Once it’s out of sight, Daisy turns and gives Ellie a forlornly defiant glare, a stubborn set to her chin.

Ellie smiles and says, “Don’t worry, Daisy.  I have a plan.”

~~~~~

Hardy

Hardy’s wearily walking towards his building when the reporters appear, gabbling excited questions and shoving microphones and cameras in his face.  He’s startled and as cameras flash, he knows the worst possible versions of his shocked expression will be plastered all over the tabloids right beside his naked arse along with the appropriately cruel puns.

One voice he recognizes carries over the cacophony, shouting, “Any comment about the video?”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” he groans, “I thought I was done with you.”

The crowd parts slightly and he gets a clear look at her:  Karen White.

“Why did you send that video to the media?  Are you trying to make a statement or just looking for notoriety?” she asks, cool challenge in her voice.

“I thought you grew a conscience,” Hardy snarls.  “And didn’t you get the official denial memo we sent out?”

“Are you avoiding my questions?”

Hardy’s face hardens as he clenches his jaw.  “I cannot comment on an active police investigation,” he says in his best media voice and once again begins to push his way through the crowd.

“Investigation?” Karen pounces.  “Are you being investigated?”

He turns at the door of his building and glares, his mouth twisted into a contemptuous sneer.  “I am not the story here,” he growls.  “Why don’t you lot concentrate on those ten women, murdered by the same man?  One of those women still hasn’t been identified!  She-- _they_ \--are the ones who deserve your attention, not some licentious video taken without my knowledge and released without my consent.”  A camera flashes and he turns blazing eyes on the photographer.  “And for God’s sake, I’ve had fucking _enough_ of bloody cameras!”

He yanks the door open and strides inside, long legs rapidly putting distance between him and the horde of vultures on his doorstep.  He sees the flick of uniform gray entering the boiler room down the hall, and wonders what the maintenance crew and the landlord are making of all this.

He wonders if the rent will go up.

He calls Daisy as he bounds up the stairs, too angry for the lift.  She sounds more cheerful than he had expected and he’s glad, even if he pouts at just how cheerful she seems as he ends the call.  She’ll be all right, and besides, it’s only temporary.  Once they stop whoever’s doing this, she’ll be able to return here, or go back to Sandbrook and pick up the threads of her life.

He reaches his flat, unlocks the door and walks in, flicking on the lights and striding to the centre of the living room.  There, he stops and stands completely still, staring around him.  The hair on the back of his neck stands up and he’s suddenly positive the stalker is there, _right now_ , hiding somewhere within the flat.  The room swirls, ants once more crawling across his skin.  His breathing speeds up, his heart pounds, and he feels more light-headed than he’s felt since he got that little piece of life-saving metal in his chest.  He sways and blinks rapidly, then explodes into motion, attacking and searching every room and each place that a person could possibly hide, and quite a few where they couldn’t.

He returns to the living room and double-checks the locks on the door, then grabs a chair and wedges it under the handle.  It might not stop someone determined to get inside, but at least he’ll hear it.

He turns and looks once more around the living room.

Not that he’ll be sleeping.

~~~~~

He stretches out on the sofa, dozing in fits and starts, hearing every tiny noise and wondering when it became so goddamn noisy.

In the morning he stands on the threshold of the bathroom for a good five minutes before he finally pushes himself to use the loo and shower as usual.  He makes his way through the reporters outside his building, drives to the station and wades through another batch of the bastards before he finally reaches the hoped-for sanctuary of his squad room.

He strides in as if nothing has happened, and barks at Sal, “Bring me up to speed.  Quickly.”

She jumps to her feet with wide eyes and a nervous expression and scurries after him into his office.  As she tells him what’s happened in the last two days (not nearly enough progress on the South Coast Killer case; too many other crimes to keep up with), he watches her with narrowed eyes, trying to identify any signs that would tell him if she’s the guilty one.

She finishes and as she hurries out of his office, he sees Webster get up and go to her, leaning in to murmur in her ear.  He raises an eyebrow, and wonders if it’s him, still resentful after all this time that he’s not the lead DS on the task force.  Hardy watches as Sal gives Webster a startled look, then a slow, shy smile and a nod. 

Perhaps they’re in it together.

He scowls, then stands and closes the blinds on his office windows.  He needs to work, not worry about who might be stalking him or think about the empty flat waiting for him at the end of the day.

~~~~~

The reporters are gone by the time he walks out of the station that evening and makes his way home.  He’s relieved to see they’re also gone from around his building.  He hopes it’s a sign that the incident is already fading from the public consciousness.

He walks in to the flat and scans the room, searching for any indication that someone has been inside.  The silence echoes against his skin as he looks up at the corners, at the angles where the walls meet the ceiling and each other, at the small cracks and nicks in the plaster.

The knock on the door startles him and he spins, eyes wide, heart pounding.  There’s another knock, followed by, “Open the door, Hardy.  We saw you come in to the building.”

He’s limp with relieved anger as he flings the door wide and glares at Miller, Tom and Daisy, although he spares wee Fred, holding on to Tom’s hand and giving him a grin as wide and sunny as his mother’s used to be.

“Go _home_ , Miller!” he growls.  “What did I tell you?”

Miller’s wide, toothy, patently insincere grin doesn’t waver.  “I have no idea what you told me since I stopped listening to you after a while.”  It seems impossible, but her grin grows larger.  “We’re here to help you secure your flat and have come prepared with wallpaper and paste and everything!  Besides, you can’t expect Daisy to stay in Broadchurch with nothing but the clothes she’s standing up in.”

He runs an agitated hand through his hair, looks at a grinning Miller, a defiantly glowering Daisy, a still (or always) wary Tom, and a happily gurgling Fred, and knows when to concede the battle, even if not the war.

He steps aside with a sour expression.

“Don’t worry, Hardy,” Miller says cheerfully as she brushes past him, “you’ll barely notice we’re here.”

“Right,” he mutters sarcastically even as he wraps an arm around Daisy and presses a kiss against her temple.

~~~~~

Ellie

Ellie carefully surveys the room until Hardy closes the door behind them and joins her.

“I’m assuming you tore this place apart last night?” she says.

“Na,” he says, “I figured I’d wait until you disobeyed my instructions and showed up with my child in tow.”

She rolls her eyes.  “Don’t be such a sore loser,” she mutters and heads to the loo.

She peers in the door and sees the holes left by SOCO when they exposed the locations of the cameras.  He joins her and they stand in silence, shoulders brushing as they examine the small room.

“When are you going to fix the holes?” she asks with forced cheerfulness.

“Plasterer is coming after the weekend.”

“Who’s going to let them in?”

“That’s what maintenance people are for.  I understand their one lass is a whiz at everything...except plastering.  The building super sang her praises for half an hour before telling me they couldn’t help.”

Ellie bites back a laugh at his disgruntled face, then says, “Well, give me all their names and we’ll put them on the list of suspects.”

He pulls a piece of paper out his shirt pocket and hands it to her.  She takes it, a little startled, then shakes her head. 

“I should have known you’d think of it first.”

“I’ve been a detective longer than I’ve been a target, Miller,” he says and gives her a sly smile.

She’s struck by the dimple in his cheek and the way his eyes crinkle, and the thought flits through her mind that he’s actually almost handsome, in a too tall, too skinny, too-much-of-a-wanker kind of way.

His expression turns puzzled and she realizes she’s staring.

“Right,” she says briskly, “where do you want us to start?”

He sighs and rubs his forehead.  “Well, since we’re all here, we may as well start with the bedrooms and this one.  It’s where we need the most privacy, isn’t it?”

~~~~~

By the time the kids go to bed, they’ve covered over every crack and pinhole in the loo and the two bedrooms.  Ellie doesn’t know if they’ve actually accomplished anything other than the appearance of controlling the situation but Daisy looks happier and even Hardy looks like he’s going to be able to sleep.

Or maybe his relaxed mood is due to the wine they’ve been drinking.  There’s something rather charming about a squiffy Hardy and if anyone had told her two years ago that she’d find _anything_ charming about Alec Hardy, she would have called them a rude name before laughing hysterically.

For an hour.

Hardy waits until Tom and Fred have settled in his room and Daisy has closed her bedroom door behind her before he gives Ellie a significant look and tilts his head towards the kitchen in what she chooses to think is an invitation rather than an order.  She pulls a face at his slender back as she follows him, feeling like she’s been called to the headmaster’s office.

He leans against the sink, wine glass casually in hand, and she’s struck by his long, clean lines as she settles at the table.  He watches her with wide, clear brown eyes and a carefully expressionless face.

“What’s this about, Miller?” he says, remarkably controlled, any sign of a little too much wine gone as if they’ve never been.  She lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“I have a plan,” she says firmly.

“Yah?  Care to enlighten _me_?”

“I spoke with Elaine, and she spoke with your CS, and it’s all arranged.”

He watches her, silent and still, and she wonders what he’s really feeling or thinking behind that bland face and those wide, unblinking eyes.  The silence unnerves her and she rushes into speech.

“I’ll be working here in Stonebridge every other week, starting Monday, until we’ve figured out this whole stalker thing.”

“I took Daisy to Broadchurch because I wanted you to keep her safe.”

“Because of these arrangements, she’s promised not to come back to Stonebridge until you give the okay.  Trust me, Hardy, if I hadn’t come up with something, I wouldn’t have been able to keep that child away from you even if I blockaded the only road into Broadchurch and scuttled every boat on the beach!”

He grimaces.  “I have no idea where she gets that from,” he mutters.

“My God, you better be joking!”

He shrugs then smirks.  She wrinkles her nose and shakes her head. 

He takes a sip of his wine and says, “So what exactly does this great plan of yours entail, besides you coming up here every other week?”

“That’s pretty much it.  You’ll be coming to Broadchurch, what, every weekend?”

“Aye.”

“Well, I’ll spend a week in Broadchurch, and a week here in Stonebridge, knowing we’ll have to play things by ear if anything breaks in either location.  While I’m here, Beth, Lucy and Ollie will be looking out for the kids, and we’ve already worked out a schedule for my team down at the station to take turns staking out the house every day and every night.”

He raises an eyebrow.  “Really?”

“We-ell, maybe not the last bit.  I just threw it in, in case it made you feel better.”

“What will make me feel better is finding out who’s doing this and stopping them.”

“Well, that’s exactly what I’m going to be helping with.  That, and the South Coast Killer case, of course.”

He watches her thoughtfully, long and lean and there’s a set to his mouth and an expression in his eyes that makes her nervous and she realizes she’s watching him with something approaching cautious fascination.  It reminds her of the way she’d felt when she watched him carrying Fred in her living room.  It’s almost like she’s never really seen him before.

“Miller?”

She starts and realizes he’s been talking and she hasn’t heard a word he’s said.

“Sorry,” she mutters and takes a quick sip of her own wine.  “What were you complaining about?”

He rolls his eyes.  “I said I didn’t want you putting yourself into harm’s way, either.  They haven’t really struck at the station yet, except for the postcard, but who knows what they’re planning next.”

She raises an eyebrow.  “Well, I’m glad you’re thinking about the station, but I think we need to increase the security here in the flat, too, since this is where I’m staying.”

He gives a small start and stares.

“Didn’t I mention that part of the plan?” she asks blithely.  “It’s only every other week, but at least you’ll have somebody looking out for you half the time.”

He sighs.  “I suppose it’s no use asking you to reconsider this ‘plan’?”

“Absolutely none.”

“And if I just say no?”

“Well, then I guess I’m sleeping in your hallway every other week.  At least let me use the loo once in a while.  So long as there are no cameras, of course.”

He grimaces as he ducks his head and scratches an eyebrow.  “You know they’ll either just wait until you’re not around, or they’ll target you, too.”

“Not if we figure it out before they can do that.”

“I don’t need you to protect me.”

“Well, you need _somebody_ , Hardy.  For God’s sake, you have all the self-preservation instincts of a lemming heading over the cliff.”

He scowls.  “I think that’s just a myth.”

“Stop being a smartarse, and just say, ‘why, thank you, Miller, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help’.”

“Won’t that be too nice for you?”

“Fine, then just say I can sleep in Daisy’s room rather than out in the hallway.”

He groans and gulps down his wine.

~~~~~

Hardy

Ollie arrives on Sunday to take the kids back to Broadchurch, and the only way Hardy gets him out of the flat is to promise an exclusive interview to the _Broadchurch Echo_.

“But only if Maggie’s there,” Hardy says firmly.

Ollie grudgingly agrees and they drive off, leaving him alone with Miller, watching the car disappear.  Miller’s still waving even after the car’s out of sight.

“You should have gone with them,” he says gruffly.  “It’s Easter break.  Come back once Tom’s back in school.”

She smacks him on the shoulder.  “Shut up.  Let’s get to work.”

“Work?”

“You said we’d focus on Tess and Joe first.  Let’s see if we can find your stalker.”

~~~~~

They go to the station the next morning and Hardy sets Miller up at a desk close to wee Sal and Webster.  Sal’s all smiles but Webster is scowling until Hardy sees Sal speaking to him in the break room after which he returns and grudgingly gives Miller a smile.

Hardy gets a message from Murray that morning regarding the data from the video.  It confirms what he suspected:  the time stamps on the images used in the video were all before mid-February, with the most recent date and time the night he picked Daisy up at the train station.  Which, Murray points out with his customary asperity, doesn’t necessarily mean there isn’t a margin of error, since the clock and calendar on the camera could have been adjusted.

Hardy shares the information with Miller as they drive to Sandbrook, and says, “I can’t really see how it’s Tess.”

“Don’t trust,” Miller says automatically.

“Nothing to do with trust.  She has no motive and no opportunity.”

“What?  No lingering resentment from the divorce?”

“She was the one who cheated on me, remember?”

“Right.”  She frowns.  “Was there any fallout from people learning she was the reason the first trial against Lee Ashworth fell apart?”

“Nobody knows.  Not publicly, I mean.  So far, anyway.  They still haven’t entered their pleas, you know.”

“I do know.  What’s taking so bloody long?”

“The Crown is still trying to work out deals.”

“Hmm,” Miller said thoughtfully, and he knew she was thinking about Joe and his last minute change of heart.  “Was Tess resentful that we got all the credit?”

“You should have gotten all the credit,” he growls.

She blinks rapidly, then says, “How many times to I have to tell you to stop being nice to me?”

“I’m stating a fact.  You’re the one who saw the missing piece of evidence.  If there was any glory to be had, it belonged to you.”

“Oh?  And not you for refusing to give up?”

“Tess always says I’m too obsessive to give up.”

“Well, I can’t argue with her there.”  Miller pauses, then says, “We may have different reasons, but we both know solving Sandbrook had nothing to do with fame and glory.”

“True,” he says softly and feels the water closing over his head and rushing into his lungs, feels the weight of Pippa hanging in his arms.  He swallows past the lump in his throat and says, “Tess has never told me if she resents it or not.”

“What about Dave?  Does he resent the praise that’s been dumped on you?”

“Probably, although he was more than happy to stand by while I was being drenched in shit.”

“Why didn’t he come forward and take the blame for Tess?”

“He’s married.  Didn’t want to lose his family over it.”

“So he let you lose yours?”

“It was a long time ago, Miller.”

“Not that long ago!”

“A lifetime,” he says softly, his face sad, his eyes distant.

She bites her lip and looks away and they finish the rest of the drive to Sandbrook in silence.

~~~~~

Tess is surprised to see them but takes them into her office readily enough.  She closes the door, tsks and says, “Can’t you ever stay out of trouble, Alec?  I never expected you to become an exhibitionist after all this time.”

He rolls his eyes.  “You know perfectly well I didn’t make that video.”

She sits down and gives him a smug smile.  “No?  I might have reconsidered your offer of reconciliation if you had, as a sign that you’ve become more exciting in your old age.  Apparently not.”  She glances at Miller.  “Sorry, Ellie, I don’t usually speak about our sex life--such as it was--in front of others, but I suspect this isn’t a social call, is it?”

Miller shakes her head and says, “No.  How many times have you been in Stonebridge since December, Tess?”

She scoffs.  “You can’t seriously believe I would plant cameras in my ex-husband’s loo, edit the film and then release it to the media?”  She turns her gaze to Hardy.  “Really, Alec, what possible motive could I have to take video of your naked, skinny arse?  It’s not like I haven’t seen it all before.”

“The video wasn’t made to titillate, it was made to humiliate, and it was taken in the very flat your daughter is living in.  That doesn’t worry you?”

“Of course it worries me, but it shouldn’t make me a suspect!”

Hardy gives her an incredulous look.  “You know how this works, Tess.”

She sighs and leans back in her chair.  “Fine.  I had never been to Stonebridge prior to the task force meeting in January, and I haven’t been back since.”

“We’ll be confirming that,” Miller says.  “I hope you understand.”

Tess gives her an unfathomable, calculating look.  “I do understand, but what motive could I possibly have?”

“Really?” Hardy says.  “How many times have we been called to a scene where the motive was as trivial as playing the telly too loud?”

“True.”

They share a look, one filled with memories crafted through twenty years of crime and passion and love and hate, and the part of him that will always love her yearns to reach out and recapture what had been good about their relationship.  The rest of him is grateful it’s impossible, that it had been too late from the moment Tess pulled into that parking garage with Dave instead of delivering the pendant to the station.

“We’d like to examine your computers,” he says.

Tess flushes.  “I understand,” she says, “but can I ask you and your SOCO to be discreet?”  Her eyes narrow.  “Or are you going through Murray?”

“I trust him,” he says simply.

“I know, but he’ll never let me hear the end of it once he sees what’s on my computers.”

“Join the club.”

Tess heaves a put-upon sigh.  “Fine.”  She digs out her keys and says, “Bring the keys back when you’re done, yah?”

Miller grabs them and says briskly, “Thank you.  Now, where’s Dave?”

~~~~~

“What possible motive could I have?” Dave sneers, leaning back in the chair behind his desk.

“Jealousy,” Miller says with a shrug.

Dave laughs.  “He lost the girl,” he says with a mocking glance at Hardy, who’s watching him with wide eyes in an impassive face, “how could I possibly be jealous?”

“Not personally--professionally,” Miller snaps.  “You may be a DI now but you’re holding on to the job by the skin of your teeth--or so we’ve heard.  And here’s Hardy, who took the fall on the Ashworth case to protect his wife and daughter and was forced out in disgrace for his pains.  Not only did he go on to solve the Danny Latimer murder, he also broke the Sandbrook case, and now he’s heading up a multi-territorial task force investigating one of the most prolific serial killer cases we’ve seen in this part of the country.  What is it, Dave?  You can’t accept what small measure of fame and professional acceptance he’s regained?”

“Or is it even more basic than that?” Hardy growls and shifts forward in his chair.  “Are you just trying to save your career and family and your own arse?  Discredit me now before we have to go to court and testify to the facts of the case?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dave snaps.

“You lied, Dave.  Claire only took the pendant, but when we examined the car, the radio and other valuables were also gone.  That was your doing, wasn’t it?  To cover up how specific the theft had been.  To throw us all off from thinking it was related to the case.  Why’d you do it?  Did Claire put you up to it?”

Dave sneers.  “You believe Claire when she told you she only took the pendant?  She’s a liar, Hardy.  Don’t you know that by now?”  He leans forward, eyes mocking.  “Or was she telling the truth about you?  Did you rape her?  Hold her against her will?  Then manipulated her into a false confession once Ashworth came back?  How far were you willing to go to close that case?”

Hardy’s mouth twists into a contemptuous line.  “If you had been willing to go even half as far instead of stopping to shag my wife, I wouldn’t have had to do anything, now, would I?  We would have been able to break Ashworth with that pendant and none of what’s happened since would have happened.  _Answer the question_ :  why did you deliberately mislead the investigation?”

Dave glares.  “Go to hell.”

~~~~~

Hardy and Miller walk to the car in silence, and it’s not until they’re back on the road that Miller says, “Can you prove any of what you said to him in there?”

“Sadly, no, otherwise I would have him up on charges.”

“Think Claire could be lying?”

He snorts.  “When isn’t she?”

“True.”  Miller thinks in silence then says, “Do you think he’s the one?”

“He’s certainly manipulative enough, but he has nothing to gain, so far as I can tell.”

“Maybe humiliating you is gain enough.”

His mouth twists into a bitter grimace.  “You’d think everything that was heaped on me after the pendant was stolen would be enough for anybody.”

“Except you managed to get through it and salvaged your career and your reputation.  You’re even back in the media’s spotlight.”

“He can have the spotlight,” Hardy growls.  “I just want answers for the families and a hope for justice.”

“Unlike what happened with Joe, right?”

He glances at her.  “Aye.  He’s next.”

“I’ll call Paul, see if he knows what happened after Joe got to Sheffield.”

“Is that where you sent him?”

She nods.  “Paul made the arrangements at a half-way house there.”

“Well, Sheffield certainly sounds like a fate worse than death.”

Miller grins suddenly.  “I know.  He’s always hated the place.”  Her smile fades.  “What’s next?”

Hardy shrugs.  “We’ll look at Sal and Webster while we’re tracking down Joe.  We still have a job to do, and I won’t let whoever this person is stop us.  I’ll also see about getting in to see Lee and Claire and Ricky.”

“Getting _us_ in to see them.”

He slides a glance her way.  “Oh, aye,” he drawls, “I know better than to do it on my own.”

She gives him a decisive nod and says, “And don’t you forget it.”

~~~~~

 


	9. Chapter Seven

Ellie

They drive in silence, Ellie mulling over the interviews they’d just finished in Sandbrook.

“You may as well spit it out, Miller,” Hardy finally drawls.  “I can hear the gears painfully grinding in your head.”

She rolls her eyes, and says, “Why are you so sure Tess isn’t the one who faked the robbery?”

Hardy presses his lips into a thin line, and she wonders if this is a question he’s just going to ignore.

“I’m not,” he finally says, “but Dave makes the most sense.”

“Explain it to me.”

“Tess was--and is--very good at her job, and she’s always been as dedicated to the job as I am.”  He slides her a rueful glance and says, “Well, maybe not quite _that_ dedicated.  Regardless, it would take a great deal for her to deliberately compromise a case, and she would have known that a targeted theft meant we needed to look more closely at everyone involved.  It couldn’t have been Ashworth, since he was already in custody, so he would have needed an accomplice, and Claire would have been the obvious choice.  I just can’t see anything Claire could have offered to make it worthwhile for Tess to risk everything, especially Daisy.”

“Dave had just as much to lose.  What could she offer him, then?”

“Sex, most likely.  Dave has never been a great one for thinking ahead and it’s Claire’s weapon of choice, after all.”

“Is that what she used on you?”

“What, sex?  With _Claire_?  Na.  She used the damsel in distress on me.”

Ellie snickers.  “What?  _You_?  Since when are you some kind of white knight?”

He presses his lips together as he turns his head away. “If Dave covered things up for Claire, it would have been for sex.  Claire didn’t have much money and I doubt he would have jeopardized everything for a mere haircut.”

“But if he was already having an affair with Tess...”

“It was serious for her, not Dave.  Dave’s a player.  Always was.”  He grimaces.  “I’m not sure how she missed that.”

“Are you still in love with her?” Ellie asks, a small catch in her throat.

He huffs an irritated sigh and refuses to look at her.

“I need to know if your feelings for your ex-wife are clouding your judgment.  She said you asked to reconcile.”

“She’s exaggerating.  I told her I missed her and wished we could go back and be a family again.”

“When was this?”

“The day before the surgery.”  He glances at her then returns his attention to his driving.  “I don’t really know what I was hoping would happen.  Maybe just for her to give me something to hold on to before going into surgery, something that meant I had a reason beyond solving Sandbrook to keep living.”

“Were you really that worried about the surgery?”

He swallows and she watches the long, surprisingly graceful fingers of his hands clench around the steering wheel then relax.

“I went into cardiac arrest.  On the table.” She catches her breath, her gaze flashing up to the sharp angles of his profile.  “I understand it took them three tries to bring me back.”

“My God.  Why didn’t you tell me?”

His mouth twists as he shrugs.  “Not important.  I made it through, didn’t I?  Besides, we solved Sandbrook, Miller.  Means there really was a reason why I survived it all, that there is some point to my continued existence.”

Ellie blinks rapidly and turns to look out the passenger window.

As much as she tries, she can’t think of anything else to say the rest of the way home.

~~~~~

They talk to Webster first the following morning.

He’s predictably resentful of the questions but answers without hesitation and gives up his computers readily enough.  Like Tess and Dave, he has no obvious motive and gains nothing from publicly humiliating Hardy.

They call Sal in next, but as she settles with wide blue eyes and a nervous smile into the chair in front of Hardy’s desk, his cell phone rings.

“What?” he barks then scowls as he listens to the voice on the other end.  He’s on his feet and moving towards the door as he listens and says, “We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”  He turns at the door and says, “I’ll leave this one to you, Miller,” and is gone before either woman can respond.

Ellie’s jaw drops as the door snaps closed behind him and she watches through the window as he taps Webster on the shoulder.  The younger man is startled then hurries after him as Hardy strides rapidly from the squad room.  She turns to the younger woman and they share a look full of mutual understanding before Ellie shakes her head and says, “He’s still a knob,” and surprises a laugh out of Sal.

Ellie smiles and adjusts her notebook on Hardy’s desk. “I guess it’s just you and me.”

“Honestly?  I’m rather glad about that,” Sal says with a nervous tug at a curly lock of hair hanging by her ear.  “I wasn’t looking forward to being skewered by GB’s eyes.  Sometimes, he’s just so... _intense_ , you know what I mean?  I almost feel sorry for suspects he’s interrogating.”

“I do know what you mean,” Ellie says with a grimace, then frowns.  “GB?”

Sal flushes guiltily.  “Grumpy Bastard.  Donny--Webster, I mean--coined it and it seems to have stuck.”

Ellie grins, wide and open.  “Hardy’s right; much more creative than what we came up with in Broadchurch.  Or at least more acceptable in polite company.”

Sal shrugs sheepishly and they laugh.

“Well,” Sal says with a sigh and lifts her chin with a determined air, “let’s get this over with.”

“Awright.  Have you ever been in Hardy’s flat?”

“No, and I’ve never deliberately taken a photo of him or filmed him, naked or otherwise, or edited video of him, and you can examine all of my computers and cameras, including the one here at work.”

“Thank you.  SOCO will be round to bag and tag everything.”

Sal nods and earnestly says, “I want to do everything I can to be cleared so you can find whoever’s doing this to him.”  She shakes her head.  “He didn’t deserve what happened.”

There’s something in the younger woman’s expression and tone of voice that makes Ellie’s eyes narrow in sudden suspicion.  “Do you fancy him, Sal?” she asks and, like when she asked Hardy if he still loved Tess, she finds herself holding her breath.

“ _Fancy_ him?” Sal says, as if she’s never heard the term before, and flushes.  “We-ell, I certainly wouldn’t say no if he asked me for a drink, but I don’t think he realizes I’m a grown woman of twenty-six.  He calls me wee Sal, for God’s sake!”

A cold, deep pit opens in Ellie’s stomach at Sal’s confession and she clears her throat before saying, “Does it offend you, when he calls you that?”

Sal shakes her head.  “Na, actually, I find it rather sweet.”  She leans forward with a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes and whispers, “I think I’m his favourite.”  She grins, leans back, and says, “Well, as much as anyone is his favourite.  I mean, he barks and growls at me just as much as he does at everyone else, but then he calls me wee Sal, and he gives me a nod of approval once in a while, and I’m reminded, you know, that he’s grumpy but he does have a heart.”  She pauses, a gently fond smile on her face, then adds, “And he’s a brilliant detective.”

“Brilliant?”

“Not brilliant as in a genius, but brilliant as in devoted and focused and he just... _won’t give up_ , you know what I mean?”

Ellie huffs a small laugh. “Do I!”

Sal nods eagerly.  “It’s admirable and it makes me want to be a better copper, to do something great.  I want him to be proud of me.”

Ellie feels a stab of comradery with the woman sitting across the desk from her.  Even when she’d resented the hell out of him, even when she was sure she hated his breathing guts, even when she’s so angry she could happily murder him herself and dance on his corpse, there’s always been an underlying desire to make him proud, mixed with an even greater desire to prove him wrong.

“Do you know what’s odd, though?” Sal says thoughtfully.

Ellie gives a small shake of her head.

“It’s not about ego with him.  Have you noticed that?  He was so angry the press focused on him at the expense of the women who have been murdered, he raged around here for an hour.  Scared the cleaning lady even more than she already is, and she’s always been terrified of him, making sure to scuttle out of sight before he gets near her.  You should have been here, Ellie, when the media started asking him how he felt about being in the middle of yet another high profile case.”

“I read some of the quotes from the press conference, yah,” Ellie mutters, “and listened to him rant about it that night.”

“It was glorious!  I only wish I could speak with the same level of dripping sarcasm and disdain.  Of course, it just makes them feed on him more.”

“How dare he give up his opportunity for fame?”

Sal nods.  “Exactly.”  She frowns.  “Do you think any of the reporters would go so far, just to get back at him?”

Ellie shrugs.  “I sincerely hope not, but I suppose there’s no harm in putting them on the list of suspects.”

“Then there’s that Dave in Sandbrook.”

“What about him?”

“Oh, right, you probably didn’t see their local paper today.”

Ellie shakes her head.

“Dave gave an interview about the South Coast Killer, and managed to talk more about himself and his accomplishments than he did about the case.”  She grimaces with distaste.  “I don’t like him.”

Ellie’s face twists into a similar expression.  “Neither do I,” she mutters.

~~~~~

Hardy

He hadn’t planned on being called out of the interview with wee Sal, but he can’t deny he’s relieved to have an excuse to leave.  It’s a brief moment of cowardice he almost feels guilty about, but he thinks that if he’s not there she might open up more to Miller and admit everything, if she’s the one behind it all.  If it’s her and she confesses, then there’s still an opportunity for her to save face and he wouldn’t have to ruin her career over what is, ultimately, nothing but an extremely tasteless series of pranks.  Hell, if wasn’t for Daisy, he’d even consider keeping her on in his squad.

The case he and Webster are called out to drives all thought of the stalker out of his mind.  It’s a murder-suicide that’s tragic and pointless and leaves two children without parents.  He finally makes his way home that evening wondering if there was any point at all to the entire human race.

Miller’s curled up on the sofa reading the paper as he walks into the flat.  She lowers the paper and says, “Good, you’re home.”

He pauses on the threshold, his shoulders slumped, his face drawn and exhausted, and says, “Let’s go to the pub.”

~~~~~

Miller gets them a table while he goes to the bar.

His bartender with the sweet-smile is there, which he’s grateful to see.  He calls her over, places their order then says, “Do you remember the woman I’ve met here a couple of times?  The one you don’t seem to like much.”

Her blue eyes turn frosty.  “Missy.”

“Yes.  Have you seen her in here lately?”

She shrugs.  “Every night for the last week.”  She glances at her watch.  “About an hour from now is when she’s been sauntering in.”

Hardy nods, pays for the drinks, carries them back to Miller and tells her what the bartender told him as he settles in the chair across from her.

She gives him a thoughtful look and nods.  “What happened this morning, when you were called out with Webster?”

He glances around and murmurs, “Murder-suicide.  Husband and wife.  Two children left behind, both out with friends, thank God, otherwise he might have taken them, too.”

Miller winces.

“What happened with wee Sal?” he asks.

She sighs and shakes her head.  “Nothing.  She says she’s never been in your flat and she neither hates nor loves you enough to do this to you.  SOCO bagged and tagged all her computers and they’re on their way to Alistair Murray as we speak.”

He nods morosely, slouched over the table, his head bowed.  “Not surprised about Sal,” he mutters.  “No motive and nothing to gain.”

“Yah?  This man today?  What did he gain?”

Hardy looks at her with pained eyes and shakes his head.

~~~~~

They’re eating in companionable silence when Missy slides into a chair at their table.

Hardy hastily chews, swallows and introduces her to Miller before he turns back to her, hope in his eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that, Scotty,” she says with a slightly mocking smile.  “I haven’t seen anything suspicious, if that’s what you’re hoping.”

“I was.”  He leans closer.  “I was wondering if you’ve noticed anything strange in the neighbourhood itself other than the punters cruising the Avenue?”

A frown creases her forehead as she ponders the question.  “Not that I can recall.”  She shoots him a sharp look.  “What?  You want me to check out all the alleys and buildings on the Avenue?”

“No!  For God’s sake, don’t make yourself a target!”

She shrugs as she reaches across the table and takes a chip from his plate.  “I’m already a target, Scotty.  You think he’s the only predator out there?  He just happens to go farther than the others.”

Hardy scowls.  “Missy--”

“Stop fussing!  I only popped in to let you know I’m all right but there’s no progress.”  She gives Miller a curiously assessing look, then turns back to Hardy and says, “Oh, and I watched your video.  Several times, even, before it was taken off the site.  You know, if you ever get tired of being a copper, you should audition for a career in the adult film industry.”  Hardy’s eyes widen in horror as she flicks another archly amused glance at Miller then back at him.  “I’m rather sorry you didn’t take me up on my offer the first time round, because trust me:  you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed about.  Then again, the camera does add ten inches.”

Miller chokes and begins to cough while Hardy groans and covers his face with his hands.

~~~~~

Ellie

Ellie’s still laughing as they stroll back to Hardy’s flat, and she’s only more amused because he’s scowling and growling yet makes no effort to force her to change the subject.  She hopes the light-hearted snarking helps to take his mind off the horrific crime scene he’d worked that afternoon.

She’s not sure what wakes her late in the night and leaves her blinking sleepily into the dark.  Then she hears the snick of Hardy’s bedroom door opening and his soft footsteps as he pads his way to the loo.  She rolls over with a rueful grimace at the fact she can already recognize the sounds he makes when he’s moving about in the middle of the night, and allows sleep to reclaim her once more.

~~~~~~

There’s no progress the next day, and they both return to the flat with grumpy scowls, eat supper with little conversation and head to their separate spaces before their scowls turn into truly angry words and a full blown war.  She’s almost sorry they didn’t end up in a row as she angrily punches the pillow and tosses and turns, trying to get comfortable.  At least if she’s yelling at him and he’s yelling at her, she’s not wondering why it’s been so difficult to find Joe, and when is the South Coast Killer going to strike again, and who the bloody hell is stalking Hardy and what are they going to do next and when.

She’s woken from fitful sleep by something she can’t quite remember but she hears Hardy coughing and sees the sliver of light under her bedroom door as he makes his way to the kitchen.  She slides back towards sleep, thinking she needs to ask when he has his next doctor’s appointment, something she’s already forgotten before her eyes close.

~~~~~

The next day is Thursday, and they’re leaving for Broadchurch that night for Easter weekend.  Hardy had booked the next four days off months ago in anticipation of going to Sandbrook, and while he’s scowling as they eat breakfast responding to her desultory conversation with grunts and growls, he can’t quite hide his pleased smile at the thought of seeing Daisy.

But first they have to get through the day, and Hardy’s called to his CS’s office before they even get out of the flat to talk about getting in to see the Ashworths and Ricky Gillespie.  When he returns to the squad room, she takes one look at the thunderous expression on his face and follows him into his office and closes the door.

“Bad news about the Ashworths and Ricky?” she asks without surprise.  Nothing else has been falling into place the last couple days, so she can’t see how getting in to see Lee, Claire and Ricky could possibly go smoothly.

Hardy gives her a sour scowl and shakes his head.  “They’re still working out deals with the Crown,” he says as his phone rings, “and my being publicly humiliated isn’t enough cause to go talk to them, at least not right now, according to their defense team.”

“I fucking hate lawyers,” Ellie mutters.  Hardy nods in agreement as he answers his phone.

“What?”  His expression eases as he listens to the voice on the other end.  “Hold on, I have Miller here with me.  I’ll put you on speaker.”  He presses a button, puts the phone down on the desk and says, “Are you there, Murray?”

“And where would I have gone in the last five seconds, laddie?” booms a voice that’s even more Scottish than Hardy’s.  “Good to know you’re still as technically dense as always.”

Hardy sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.  “What have you got for me?”

“That’s it?” Ellie asks, amused.  “You’re not going to give him a dose of your withering Hardy sarcasm?”

“Murray gets a free pass,” Hardy says.  “He’s done me more favours than I’ll publicly admit.”  He ducks his head at her questioning face and shrugs.  “He was my first partner in Glasgow.”

“Has he never mentioned me?” Murray asks.

“No, never.”

“Good.  Means I get to tell you my version of those early days first, and trust me, I’m a much better storyteller than Hardy.  We’ll need to go for a wee dram and I’ll entertain you with many a tale of woe from partnering with Alec Hardy when he was but a green copper.”

Hardy rolls his eyes.  “Ach, Murray, flirt later.  Right now we don’t have time.”

“Oi, you can’t hide the truth forever, laddie.”

“Oh?” Ellie says with an amused grin.  “Give me your number, Alistair--”

“ _Murray_!” both men immediately shout.

“Alistair is even worse than Alec, eh, laddie?” Murray says before his laughter booms out of the phone.

“Ach, aye,” Hardy says fervently.

Ellie grins and says, “Awright, Murray, why don’t I give you a ring and you can tell me all the stories Hardy doesn’t want me to hear.”

Hardy rolls his eyes.  “Can we work?”

“Spoilsport,” Ellie mutters and wrinkles her nose at him.

“What can you tell us about Tess’ computers,” Hardy says firmly but there’s a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Nothing on them related to you,” Murrays says briskly.  “Well, other than the e-mails you’ve exchanged over the last couple of years and documents from the divorce.  If she put that video together, she either didn’t use any of the computers you found, or she’s learned how to wipe all traces of her activities from the hard drive.  Tess was always as dense as you; has she suddenly become a technical genius?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“Then there’s nothing else I can tell you.  I’ll bag and tag and send everything back to you, yah?”

“Yah,” Hardy sighs.

“Are you happy or sad about this?” Murray demands.

“Relieved.  I didn’t want to have to tell Daisy if it was her mother.”  He rests his elbows on the desk.  “Thanks, Murray.  I owe you.  Again.”

“Aye, well, let me call Miller and tell her about that time you saved my life.”

“Ach, that’s only because you saved mine immediately after and you want to boast about it.”

“We seldom get true moments of heroism--let me enjoy mine.”

“At least you deserve yours.  I’ll be sending more computers to you.”

“I’ll be here.”

They cut the call and Hardy avoids Ellie’s interested and questioning eyes as he says, “It was a long time ago.”

“But true?” she pounces.

“We-ell, he definitely saved my life, back when I was greener than even wee Sal.”

She props her chin on her hand and gives him a bright-eyed grin.  “Do tell.”

He rolls his eyes.  “Don’t you have something to do?”

~~~~~

Hardy

He leaves his office at the end of day to find Miller working at a table with Sal and Webster in the room they’ve set aside for the task force.  They’re all once again going through the pictures of the neighbourhoods where the women went missing.  Miller’s frowning as she looks at each photo, a rather adorable frown line creasing the centre of her forehead.

He quickly turns away and walks around the room, once more reviewing the pathetically sparse information they’ve managed to glean from each victim and each site where a body had been found.  He makes a note to return to the river next week, once Miller’s back in Broadchurch.  He comes to a halt in front of Marney’s picture and his heart squeezes with pity and guilt that they still haven’t fully identified her.

“Can I get copies of these photos?” Miller says suddenly.

He turns from staring at Marney’s smiling, sweat-drenched face as she holds her newborn, and looks over his shoulder at Miller.  Their eyes meet and he nods, and he wonders what she’s thinking when she’s looking at him like that.

“You always seem caught on that one,” she says.

He glances back at Marney’s picture.  “She’s the only one we haven’t identified,” he says with a shrug. 

“Ah.  Right.”

He looks at the child in the smiling woman’s arms and wonders if there’s a wee child even now wondering why they haven’t heard from their mother.  Or had her life gone wrong even then and the child had never known her?  There’s no way of knowing, but he carries a tiny replica of this photo in his wallet.  He placed it there months ago, in the same place he’d once carried Pippa’s.

“Marney appeared in Stonebridge about a year ago,” he says slowly, still staring at that smiling, hopeful face.  “Never told anyone her real name, as far as we can find or anyone will tell, but she was apparently new to the life, according to the other girls.”

“Yes, I remember the reports now.”

Hardy shrugs.  “Easy to get mixed up,” he says, “the stories for all the women are practically identical, and there are so many of them.”

Sal looks up with a frown.  “Do you think he knew they had such similar histories?  No, that’s silly,” she says before anyone can respond.  “How would he know?  I mean, what, would he interview them before he kills them?”

Hardy spins round and he and Miller stare at each other, wide-eyed, before they explode into motion.  Hardy rushes to the table and joins her in scrabbling through the pictures, and they speak to each other in partial words and sentences as they find the ones they’re looking for, comparing them with each other until finally they have a half dozen pictures spread out on the table and they’re sharing a wide grin and shining eyes.

Sal and Webster exchange puzzled glances.

“What is it?” Webster asks.

“Look,” Miller says, hurrying to pin up each picture, “see?”

And they do see:  each photo shows a building with a modest sign in front of it, a sign that advertises a church run shelter offering free counselling.

“Oh, my God,” Webster breathes.

Hardy grins and claps both Sal and Webster on the shoulder.  “Well done, wee Sal!” he says and looks at Miller, his eyes sparkling.  “Maybe the women were connected by more than just their profession!”

Miller already has her phone out and is listening to it ring.

“Paul?  It’s Ellie. Hang on, let me put you on speaker.”  She presses a button then says, “I’m in Stonebridge, and I have Hardy and a couple of other police officers with me.  Have you ever heard of the…” she peers at one of the photos “...Saint Nicholas Shelter of Hope?”

“Of course,” comes the rather surprised reply.  “I helped found it.  In fact, I’m still Chairman of the Board and regularly inspect each site.  Why?”

Hardy and Miller’s effervescent grins are immediately replaced with appalled stares.

“Ellie?” Paul asks.

Miller starts.  “Sorry.  Do you have a list of employees or volunteers for each site?”

“No, but I can call the site Directors and ask them to send you the lists, if you’d like.”

“No, just send me the list of Directors, and we’ll follow up from here.”  Hardy can tell she’s struggling to keep her voice neutral.  “Thanks, Paul.  You’ve been a big help.”

“Anytime,” Paul says, but he still sounds puzzled.

Miller disconnects then gives Hardy a horrified look.  “We don’t know if he’s involved in anything,” she says defensively.

“We don’t know he’s not.”

She groans as she closes her eyes and whispers, “Don’t trust.”

~~~~~


	10. Chapter Eight

Ellie

Paul sends the list of Directors to Ellie, and Hardy parcels out the names to each of the task force sites before they even get out of Stonebridge.  As she drives to Broadchurch with Hardy in his car behind her, Ellie’s stomach churns at the thought of once again interrogating someone she knows about a heinous crime.

Beth has been working closely with Paul on Danny’s charity, and he’ll be at her house at ten in the morning on Saturday, which is where and when she’ll take Hardy to question him, even if she has to tape Hardy to the floor to keep him from interrogating the Reverend Paul Coates on Good Friday.

She needn’t have worried.  Daisy drags her father away early the next morning and they don’t return until the evening, windswept and glowing with fresh air, Daisy wrapped in smiles and Hardy in bemused affection.

“She likes it here,” he tells Ellie that night after the kids have gone to bed.

Ellie laughs.  “Don’t sound so surprised!”

“She’s lived her whole life in a city.  I was worried she’d be bored.”  He shakes his head.  “Tabitha’s keeping her busy with extra school work, while Chloe’s been introducing her to kids more her own age.  Tom’s been teaching her how to play football--which she’s always hated before, by the way--and wee Fred keeps trying to escape from them so she says she’s learning to be quick on her feet.  She even likes Lucy and Ollie!”  He glowers at Ellie.  “Not that I like that last bit.  Ollie, I mean.”

“That’s my nephew!”

“Who’s always been a bit of knob.”

“Well, you would certainly recognize one when you see one.”

He rolls his eyes.

~~~~~

She wakes in the morning to the sound of Fred’s happily babbling voice, answered by Hardy’s low growl.  She rolls over and is about to slide back into sleep when she sits bolt upright, realizing she’s hearing Fred’s happily babbling voice and Hardy’s low growl.

She creeps downstairs and cautiously peeks into the now silent living room and finds Hardy curled up on his side on the sofa, eyes closed, and tucked up against him is Fred, now also sleeping peacefully.  She closes her eyes against the sharp, bittersweet memory of watching Joe sleeping with Tom, then opens them again.  This time she notices the sofa is much too short for Hardy’s long legs and she thinks it may be time to invest in that sofa bed she’s always talked about.

“Go back to bed, Miller, he’s fine,” Hardy mumbles without opening his eyes, and she jumps a little.

She hesitates, watching them with a soft yearning, and then her eyes widen as she realizes she’s actually wondering if she could fit on the sofa as well, snuggle up with her back against Hardy’s chest and Fred tucked safely against her, all of them soft and warm and sleepy.

The revelation sends her scurrying to her bedroom where she plops onto the bed with a pounding heart, wondering where the hell _that_ thought had come from, especially with _Hardy_ , of all people.  As she calms, she decides the sudden desire to join them on the sofa has nothing to do with the man himself but is rather a symptom of her continuing deep loneliness left behind by the loss of the perfect man she’d thought she’d married.  It’s an emptiness that’s still so aching and so deep that she’d snuggle with anybody, even Hardy.

She shakes her head and resolves to tell her friends to set her up with as many dates as they can find.  Somewhere there’s a man who really is the way Joe appeared to be, and by God, she’s going to find him.

~~~~~

Hardy obviously didn’t notice anything unusual in her rapid departure from the living room, because he gives her a sleepy scowl when she returns forty-five minutes later to find him making breakfast for the kids.  The only one who seems happy to be awake is Fred, who’s beaming and chattering happily at the others who respond with an occasional grunt, growl or muttered ‘yah’.

Hardy glances at her as he places a small plate of scrambled eggs in front of Fred and ruffles his hair.

“Breakfast?” he asks in a sleep-roughened burr, his hair sticking up on one side and his face covered with scruff.  “Miller?” he asks, frowning, and she’s jolted back to reality.

“Just cereal,” she says, “and coffee.”

He nods and she finds herself watching as he reaches up to the top shelf for the cereal box, admiring the long line of his arm and how it flows into his torso to his hips to his legs.  He seems taller somehow although not quite as skinny as she’s always thought.

She closes her eyes and opens them and thankfully he’s just Hardy again, the grumpy knob and wanker who stole her job and has a tendency to take over her life whether she wants him to or not.

“Never thought of you as all that domestic, Hardy,” she says with forced casualness as she kisses Fred and Tom, smiles at Daisy and sits at the table.

“I was outnumbered,” he grumbles as he puts the cereal and milk on the table.

His toast pops and he butters the pieces then turns and leans against the counter, plate in hand as he takes a bite.  Ellie frowns, irritated that he doesn’t want to join them at the table, then realizes the table only seats four.  She makes a note to extend the table and put another chair in the room.  Either that, or they start to eat breakfast in the dining room only she doesn’t think this lot could function long enough to make it that far.

Everyone’s a bit more sociable once breakfast is over, and Hardy leaves them to clear up while he takes a shower and gets dressed in fresh clothes Ellie is impressed to see he actually brought with him.  When he’s ready, they leave the kids behind and walk over to Beth’s.

“I know you have jeans,” she says as they stride across the green, “why don’t you ever wear them?”

He gives her a surprised look.  “Because I’m on official business.”

Ellie just shakes her head and gives Beth a wide, genuinely happy smile when she answers the door.

Beth’s startled but happy enough to see them and Ellie makes small talk while they wait for Paul to arrive.  When he does, he walks into the living room and looks resigned when he sees them waiting for him.

“I thought you’d be wanting to talk to me,” he sighs.

Hardy and Ellie exchange a glance then Hardy says, “Let’s go outside.”

They’re silent until they’re in the garden, then, deliberately ignoring Hardy and the notebook he’s pulled out, Paul says to Ellie, “This is about the South Coast Killer, isn’t it?”

Ellie says, “Tell us more about these shelters you’ve set up.”

“We started the first one five years ago to provide a safe place for people living on the streets.  They’re open 24-7 and anyone who walks in can get a hot meal, a place to warm up, as well as short-term housing and long-term counselling, if they want it.  We’ve expanded to seven locations since then--just opened our latest last month.  We run on donations and volunteers.”

“How often do your volunteers or staff move between locations?”

“Why...I don’t know.  There’s a lot of communication, especially when we’re setting one up.  And, of course, our regular meetings.  To keep it fair, we rotate through each site.”

“Do you have a schedule of the meetings for the last five years?” Hardy asks.

Paul glances from one to the other.

“You can’t be serious!”

“We need to eliminate suspects,” Ellie says soothingly.

“We are men of God!  We’re trying to help!”

“I know,” Ellie says, “but we need that schedule.  Besides, if there’s an overlap then, if nothing else, maybe somebody noticed something.”

Paul gives her a disbelieving stare then shrugs helplessly.  “I’ll go through my calendar and send you the dates.”

“And all the dates you were at each site, Reverend, whether there was a meeting or not,” Hardy says, looking up from his notebook.

Paul gives him a disbelieving glare.  “Really?  Haven’t you learned by now that I’m not that kind of man?”

Hardy’s expression remains impassive.  “We still need the dates.”

“Oh, yes--I forgot,” Paul says, angry sarcasm dripping off his words.  “You have no faith, no trust, no forgiveness.  What a horrible place your head must be!”

Hardy’s mouth twists and Ellie blinks at the sudden angry fire in his eyes.

“Do you want to know what’s in my head, Reverend?” he growls softly.  “I grew up with a man who raged at my mother because she burnt the toast.  I have seen women and men battered or shot or stabbed, and usually for nothing more than a few quid or imagined jealousy.  I’ve carried a murdered child from a river and I’ve been looking at far too many bodies of women who deserved better than what life handed them.  Trust?  Faith?  Forgiveness?  Those are all easy to give when _you haven’t seen_.  Aye, stand up high in your pulpit and preach for all of it, but you should also pray for the strength of people like me, Reverend.  We’re the ones who stand in front of you, so you don’t _have_ to see.”

Paul’s face is pale, his eyes wide as Hardy glares and presses his lips into a tight, thin line before he says, “The dates, Reverend.”

Paul swallows.  “I’ll send them along with the others.”

~~~~~

Hardy leaves Ellie to smooth any ruffled feathers and she goes home with a simmering desire to once more tell him just how much of a bloody wanker he is.  Only he’s gone to Tabitha Jones’ place with Daisy, and Tom says he’s then on to the _Broadchurch Echo_ for his promised interview with Ollie and Maggie.  By the time they return, he’s smiling the smile he only gives his daughter, and somehow her annoyance with him doesn’t seem as important, and she lets it go.

By the time he leaves on Monday, the list of dates is already sent on to wee Sal and Webster to begin cross-checking them against the known dates of the women’s disappearances.  By the time his car is out of sight, she’s already caught up in the whirl of her usual life in Broadchurch.  That night, Joan-from-the-newsagent phones to set her up with a blind date on Thursday night and she’s cautiously optimistic about it.

When Hardy calls Daisy to let her know he’s home, she realizes she almost misses the skinny wanker, and the week seems to stretch endlessly in front of her until the weekend.

~~~~~

Hardy

Their promising lead quickly stalls.  There’s a brief moment of euphoria when they confirm that all of the victims had gone to the shelter at one time or another, but they can’t prove they went to their local shelter on the dates they were last seen.  The dates and locations of the board meetings overlap two of the cases they’ve identified, but not the others, and the DSs are currently working their way through the schedules for all the Directors, staff and volunteers.  Wee Sal and Webster work late each night reviewing and cross-checking the interviews and background checks as they come in but there’s little real evidence or progress.

Well, Hardy thinks as he trudges along the river bank, it’s been less than a week and these things take time.

He scowls as he assesses the landscape.  It’s Thursday evening, Miller’s on a date and he’s…scouting for locations where a serial killer might want to leave another victim.  He shakes his head, feeling momentarily disgruntled before he remembers the photo in his wallet, a picture of a smiling, optimistic new mother who ended up murdered and discarded as if she was of no value.

He pushes on.

~~~~~

Life quickly falls into a routine.  During the week he’s alone, and without Daisy or Miller to keep him in check, Hardy works on the South Coast Killer case with the same obsessive focus with which he’d once pursued Lee Ashworth.  He meets Missy once a week, and the bartender with the sweet smile has finally stopped glowering when they sit together, although she still can’t seem to ever remember what he drinks.

They’ve narrowed the possible suspects among the shelter personnel to six men whose schedules significantly overlap with the dates the women disappeared.  But there’s no physical evidence tying any of them to the women, and nothing else that supports their theory that the shelter is a common factor connecting the murders.

Marney remains unidentified, her picture set in his wallet where he sees her every day and repeats his promise that he won’t stop until he’s identified her and her killer.

~~~~~

He dreams of the water, of his desperate struggle against the current, of Pippa’s body hanging heavy in his arms.  Only now Marney joins him in the river, beaming and sweat soaked as she begs him to help her even as her weight pulls him under.

~~~~~

When Miller’s in town, he finds there’s an awkward tension between them--well, even more awkward and tense than before--and every now and then she watches him with an almost appalled fascination he hasn’t seen in her eyes since the early days of investigating Danny’s murder.  As far as he can tell, he hasn’t done anything worse than he usually does and if she isn’t used to his abrasiveness by now, she never will be. 

As the days drift into weeks and the weeks into months, Hardy feels they’ve become trapped in some kind of strange limbo.  The stalker--no, prankster--has gone silent, and none of the computers they confiscated had anything on them.  They finally tracked Joe to France where he’s been living since shortly after his acquittal, and Hardy’s request to interrogate Lee, Claire and Ricky is still on hold until they finally come to some sort of plea deal with the Crown or else decide to go to trial.  Knowing Claire, he thinks sourly, he’ll be a grandfather before she finally agrees to a deal and sticks with it.  It would have been easier to meet with them if he hadn’t been the investigating officer in the cases against them, or if they could prove the prankster was tied to them, or if his life had been threatened in some way.

He sighs as he drives back to Stonebridge almost two months after the video was posted online.

Something somewhere has got to give.

~~~~~

Ellie

Ellie puts her feelings of vague nervousness and tension down to having to leave her boys behind every other week and go to Stonebridge.  She knows Hardy didn’t ask her to do it, but she likes to tell herself it’s all his fault anyway.

Not that it’s been completely unpleasant.  Daisy’s a great girl, just turned sixteen, and both she and Tom take care of Fred and the house with a little help from family and friends.  Ellie’s also achieved a certain uneasy balance with Hardy.  They’re blessedly both relatively neat, and while Hardy isn’t a morning person...or an afternoon person...or an evening person, really, he at least lets her babble cheerfully and just watches her with a disbelieving, unblinking stare.  The table in her kitchen now fits five, and she bought a sofa bed that’s at least long enough for him.  The argument over his insistence on paying for half of it lasted the entire week she was in Stonebridge and into his weekend in Broadchurch.  In the end, he simply added more to the money he gives her for Daisy’s room and board and was on the road back to Stonebridge before she realized what he’d done.

It’s Tuesday night of her fourth week in Stonebridge, almost two months since the video was released, and as she settles in for the night she acknowledges that her vague sense of restlessness is due to the fact that everything has slowed down.  Oh, she’s busy every day she’s at the station with Hardy, advising her DSs long distance and going over the evidence for the South Coast Killer case with Sal and Webster and Hardy, and even assisting on other cases when asked.  But the main reason she’s in Stonebridge and staying in Hardy’s flat--tracking down the stalker--has gone nowhere fast.

She pulls the blankets over her and scowls up at the ceiling.  Spending all this time with Hardy is starting to do strange things to her mind, too.  She’s been noticing things about him she doesn’t want to think about and she’s been trying to purge those thoughts with blind date after blind date but with no relief in sight.  The men she’s been set up with have ranged from sweet but no spark, to downright impossible, and even if there’s a small flare of hope for a second date, Hardy shows up to spend the weekend with Daisy, and she’s suddenly distracted by the length of his legs or the angles of his face or the colour of his eyes, and for some reason, she never seems to go out on a second date.

She knows she’s just lonely and struggling with unfulfilled sexual need, and Hardy’s the only man she sees on a regular basis who is relatively her age and single.  It’s nothing _personal_.

She scowls, thinking she’s never going to get to sleep.  Which is why she hears a familiar, muffled noise from Hardy’s bedroom followed by coughing, then his door opening and the soft padding of his footsteps to the kitchen.

Well, she thinks as she flings off the covers and steps out of bed, this at least is something she can do something about.

~~~~~

Hardy

Hardy wakes, gasping and choking, coughing as he tries to get the remembered water out of his lungs.  He stumbles out of bed, sweat-soaked and clammy.  He strips off his t-shirt and uses it to wipe the sweat from his face and chest before he tosses it on the end of the bed and heads to the kitchen.

He’s drinking water with a trembling hand when he realizes he’s no longer alone. He glances over his shoulder to see Miller leaning against the door jamb, her arms crossed, an angry scowl on her face.  He turns back to the sink and hangs his head.

~~~~~

Ellie

“Go back to bed, Miller,” he growls.

Ellie rolls her eyes.  “As if I’ve ever listened to you before.”

He grunts.

They stand in tense silence, and Ellie finds she’s looking at his back, following the long, ropy muscles from where they disappear below his pajama bottoms, up the small of his back to his shoulders and the tense muscles that flex as he grips the sink and the glass of water.

“You all right?” Ellie finally asks when it seems he’s quite content to stand there with his back towards her and his head hanging for the rest of the night.

“I’m fine.  Don’t fuss,” he mutters and straightens, gulping down the glass of water and placing it in the sink before he turns and leans against the cupboard, his hands gripping the counter on either side of him.  It takes all her training as a copper to keep her eyes focused on his face rather than to let them blatantly wander over his bare chest and stomach, although she automatically notes the small scar just over his heart and a larger one on his right side that follows the curve of his hip.

“I heard you,” she says flatly.  “Is your heart acting up again?”

That gets him to look at her with startled confusion.  “My heart’s fine.  The doctor said so just last week.”

“Then what happened?  It’s not the first time I’ve heard you, you know, I’ve been hearing you for weeks.  Coughing and choking.”  Her eyes narrow.  “You’re not doing anything _sexual_ in there, are you?”

That earns her a stare from wide, dark eyes that show an amusing amount of horrified confusion.

She nods.  “Didn’t think so.  Now tell me what’s going on.”

He looks away.

She re-crosses her arms and fixes him with an intense glare.

“Do you really think you’re going to get out of this kitchen without telling me?”

He sighs wearily and runs a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in tufts.

“I have dreams,” he says, meeting her eyes with an effort.  “About Pippa.  About the river.  I told you I got pulled under? I would have drowned if I hadn’t managed to get my feet under me after I was tumbled downstream by the current.  I’ve dreamed about it ever since.  Not every night, and they eased a lot once I had the surgery and we closed Sandbrook.  But every now and then, they come back.  Between this case and the prankster’s tricks...” he shrugs helplessly.  “Sometimes they come back.”

He blinks and bows his head, staring at his feet.

She takes a step towards him, then stops as he softly says, “Lately, Marney’s been there, too.  She’s with me in the river, begging me to help her, only she pulls me under no matter what I do.”

Ellie frowns.  “She’s always been the one you focused on the most,” she says.  “Why has she gotten to you like this?”

He doesn’t raise his head as he looks up at her from beneath his brows, his wide eyes filled with empathy and despair.  “Because someone, somewhere, once loved her.  She had a child.   She deserves an identity other than that of victim.  Her family deserves to know what happened to her.  Her child needs to know their mother didn’t simply desert them, needs to know that the only thing that was personal in her room was a picture of _them_.”

He looks at her, amber eyes wide and pained but with stubborn resolve beneath it all, and she’s rocked by a rush of emotion:  empathy mixed with affection mixed with something much deeper and stronger that terrifies her, sets her heart racing and catches her breath in her throat and it’s all she can do not to turn tail and run from the room as if all the devils in hell were on her heels.

He must see something in her face because he straightens with a concerned frown.

“Miller?” he asks and takes a step towards her.  She shies away and he freezes and they stand in tense silence, a concerned, bewildered look on his face but she sees something else in his eyes as he watches her, something familiar, something she recognizes because she’s seen it before in a women’s loo, in a little blue shack, in a courtroom, looking up at her from a relieved face in a hospital bed.

It breaks her out of her frozen state and she forces a shrug, tugging her housecoat closer around her as she mumbles, “Well, you should maybe talk to somebody about that,” before her courage breaks and she turns and hurries to her bedroom.

She doesn’t feel safe until she’s inside, leaning against the closed door, her eyes wide in panic, and she doesn’t give a shit if she’s confused the hell out of him because it’s nothing compared to how confused and terrified she’s feeling right now.

Because she’s here in Stonebridge for the week, and he’s going to be at her house for the weekend, and she needs _time_ , and if there’s one thing Hardy has never been good at doing, is giving her time to pull herself together, or giving her space.

She hears him slowly return to his bedroom and the sound of the door clicking shut snaps her out of her shock and galvanizes her into action.

She hastily dresses and packs then creeps out.  She leaves a note on the kitchen table and is on the road to Broadchurch before she can change her mind.

~~~~~

Ellie’s mind is whirling as she drives and she can’t remember the last time she was this dismayed by something that didn’t have to do with Joe or Danny or a case she was working.  It’s a different kind of dismay, a different kind of panic, because she’s damned if she’s--

He’s bloody Alec bloody Hardy, for God’s sake!  He stole her job; shattered her world; ran roughshod over her needs and feelings in his obsessive determination to solve Sandbrook; disappeared from her life for eight months without a word then reappeared as suddenly as before; saddled her with keeping his daughter safe and roped her into helping him solve yet another case and keeping him safe from an unknown stalker!

There’s a small voice whispering in her head, telling her she’s being a wee bit unreasonable, but it sounds like it has a Scottish accent so she tells it to sod off.  There is no way, _no way_ , she’s looking at bloody Alec bloody Hardy and seriously wanting to find out what his lips feel like, or how his scruff feels against her skin, or if that torso of his is as endless as it looks, or if his legs really are that long, and she definitely _does not_ want to press kisses against the scar on his chest to show her gratitude that he’s alive and to soothe scars that can’t be seen.

She grips the steering wheel and screams through gritted teeth.

For God’s sake!  She doesn’t even _like_ tall men, or men with a lot of hair, or men who look at the world like it’s some fucking chore to get through and never smile or crack a joke or know how to chat or even have a good time.  She doesn’t _like_ men who are grumpy in the mornings and, really, all the fucking time.  She doesn’t like men who define themselves by their jobs and make it their sole reason for being.  She doesn’t like men who are wankers and knobs and just plain arseholes to everyone around them.

Tears prick at her eyes and she furiously shakes them away.

She doesn’t feel anything for bloody Alec bloody Hardy except exasperated tolerance and the sympathy she’d feel for any poor sod dealing with what he’s dealing with.

She clenches her teeth and pounds the steering wheel for good measure.

She doesn’t feel like this.

She _won’t_.

~~~~~

Hardy

Hardy’s worried as he drives into Broadchurch for the weekend.  He’d heard Miller bolt out of his flat like a cat with its tail on fire and her note had said absolutely nothing about the real reason she’d left.  Their subsequent conversations on the phone have been stilted and not just because he’s not a very talkative man.  Of course he knows the fact she ran immediately after their conversation in his kitchen wasn’t a coincidence.

He stops the car outside Miller’s house and sits for a moment, closing his eyes, his mouth twisting into a sad grimace.  He let Miller see too much that night and now she’s trying to get as far away from him as possible, given the circumstances.

He understands.

He sighs, opens his eyes and gets out of the car.

But he doesn’t have to be happy about it.

~~~~~

“Dad!” Daisy cries as she rushes to greet him.

He hugs her tight, then sets her apart from him with a suspicious glare.

“What’s going on?”

She laughs.  “Awright, you figured it out.  Tabitha’s pulling together a drama group for the summer.  Anyone who participates is going to get extra school credit.  Can I audition?”

“Are you any good?”

She rolls her eyes.  “No, but that’s not the point!  If I don’t get a part, I’ll get to be one of the stagehands.”

He scowls.  “Awright, I don’t see why you’d need my permission...”

“You’re not going to make me go back to Stonebridge for the summer?”

He slings an arm around her shoulders as they walk into the house.  “About that...it’s time we made some plans, yah?”

She nods eagerly.  “I want to live with you, Dad, but...” she hesitates and bites her lip.

“But you really like it here, in Broadchurch.”

She nods again.  “I like knowing almost everyone in school, and I have friends and there’s always something to do, and in spite of what happened to Danny, we’re really, really safe here.  Becca’s offered me a job at Traders for the summer, too, if I want it.”

Hardy winces inside and makes a note to take Becca aside and make sure she never asks his daughter to source drugs for her hotel guests.

“Will that interfere with this...this thing with Tabitha?”

“It shouldn’t, at least I hope not.”  She frowns.  “If it does, well, I’ll make a decision then, right?”

They sit on the couch and Hardy says, “Do you want to stay here at least until you finish school?”

Daisy hesitates, then says, “I want to be with you, Dad, but I didn’t really like Stonebridge, and Sandbrook is out of the question.”

He sighs.  “You need to forgive your mother,” he says.  “You’ll regret it forever if you don’t.”

Daisy’s mouth turns down at the corners.  “I’ll call her after you leave on Sunday,” she mutters, “but I’m not making any promises.”

He smiles.  “Awright.  Now, what if we look for a place for us?  I won’t be living here since I still have a job in Stonebridge, but what if we get you a place of your own that’s big enough for both of us when I’m here on weekends.”

“Mum will never allow it.”

“Well, let me talk to your mum about it.  Understand, though, if you start to fail school or there are boys and parties all the time, I’ll yank you back to Stonebridge so fast your head will spin.”

She rolls her eyes.  “Yes, Dad.”

~~~~~

They spend a pleasant evening alone together, and he admits her cooking has vastly improved.  But everything feels empty since Tom and Fred are spending the night at Lucy’s, and Miller went out on a date right after work.  Hardy putters around the house after Daisy goes go to bed and wonders if Miller’s enjoying herself.  He hopes she is, even as the thought makes his stomach twist.

He wanders into the kitchen, grabs a beer out of the fridge, and sprawls on the sofa before taking a healthy gulp.  She’s been running scared now for almost a week and he knows it’s because he’s shown her too much and somehow managed to cross that invisible line she’d drawn when they met again at Joe’s trial.

He takes another swig of beer as he admits that she’s at least trying to let him save what little pride he has left, but staying with him in Stonebridge every other week isn’t going to make things easier for either of them.  If truth be known, it’s not going to help them discover the prankster, either.  They may have gone silent, but Hardy’s been a detective for too long to believe that means they’ve gone away.  Something tells him they’re just biding their time, waiting for Miller to be gone, waiting for him to relax.

Well, he thinks as he finishes his beer, he can use this fuck up with Miller to his advantage.  He doesn’t know about the prankster, but he’s definitely tired of waiting.

~~~~~

In the morning, over breakfast with Miller, he broaches the subject of moving Daisy into a rental place.  He’s taken aback at her vehement resistance to the idea.

“Miller,” he says with an exasperated sigh, “she wants to stay in Broadchurch and finish her school.  What?  You want her living in your attic and me sleeping on your sofa for the next two years?”

“Well, you can always sleep on the floor if my sofa offends you so bloody much,” she snaps and he rolls his eyes.

“Stop picking a fight,” he growls and runs a hand through his sleep-ruffled hair and scratches at the scruff on his cheek.  He looks at her, his eyes puzzled and sad.  “I think you splitting your time between here and Stonebridge is taking a toll.  The South Coast Killer case is stalled, and my prankster--”

“Stalker, Hardy.  Your stalker.”

“Well, whatever you want to call them, they seem to have disappeared, so we can stop worrying about them, too.  I’d take Daisy back to Stonebridge, except she’s too happy here, plus she doesn’t want to go.  You don’t need to come to Stonebridge every other week anymore.  Stay here, raise your children, help us solve the South Coast Killer case, and--and move on with your life.”

“Oh, what?  I’m not good enough for you now?”

“I’m trying to be kind.”

Miller stands, scraping back her chair.  “Don’t be kind, it doesn’t suite you,” she snaps, “and you’re not putting that poor, defenseless sixteen-year-old in some rental shack down by the ocean!  She’s staying here, with me, and Tom, and Fred, and we’ll take care of her, and you can damn well sleep on my damn sofa every damn weekend!”

He stares unblinkingly at her.  “Date didn’t go well last night, then?” he says cautiously.

She glares then crumples as she plops back into her chair.  “ _Disastrous_.  I’d forgotten how horrible dating can be.”

“Oi.  What went wrong?”

“Bloody everything, from him yelling at the waiter to groping me in the parking lot.”

He raises an eyebrow.  “Is he in the hospital then?”

“Just a sprained wrist and wrenched shoulder,” she mutters sheepishly, “he’ll be fine.”

Hardy nods, wide eyes never leaving her face.  “So...no second date then, aye?”

She makes a face and he dodges the piece of toast she throws at him.

They’re both still chuckling when Daisy shuffles into the kitchen with a yawn and says, “Why’s this toast on the floor?” which sends them off into another burst of laughter.

~~~~~

“I meant what I said, Miller,” Hardy says later that afternoon, once Tom and Daisy have left and Fred is down for his nap.

Miller gives him a puzzled frown.

“About coming to Stonebridge every other week.  It’s taking time away from your life here for no good reason.”

She looks at him with unfathomable dark eyes, her face drawn.

“Maybe you’re right,” she says slowly.

“I know I am,” he murmurs and glances away.

~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One advantage to being off sick is getting a lot of writing done. One disadvantage is not being sure if any of what you just wrote makes sense...*gulp*


	11. Chapter Nine

Ellie

Hardy leaves on Sunday and the next few days seem unusually flat to Ellie even though she’s relieved to be back on familiar ground.  They’d been spending too much time together, that’s all, it’s no wonder she’s feeling such odd things in regards to him.

Although it doesn’t explain why the days seem dull and flat now he’s back in Stonebridge, and she doesn’t know when she’s going to be there next.  The kids are off school next week, she thinks glumly on Wednesday afternoon, maybe they should all go to Stonebridge and spend a few days.  She knows Daisy would love to spend more time with her dad.

She scowls.  Maybe he should spend the week in Broadchurch instead.

She invites him that evening during their daily phone call.

He hesitates.

“What?  You don’t want to spend more time with your daughter?” she demands.

“Of course I do,” he says, then pauses and she can see his worried scowl in her mind’s eye.  “You left,” he says abruptly.  “You obviously don’t want to spend so much time in my company.  Spending a week in Broadchurch, in your house, isn’t going to help anything.”

She bites her lip, then says, “I’m sure I can tolerate you.  For Daisy’s sake.”

“Miller--”

“For God’s sake, just say yes and book the days off.  Daisy will be thrilled.”

He’s silent so long she’s starting to think he’s going to turn her down flat.  Instead he sighs and says, “I’ll see what I can do.”

~~~~~

He shows up on Friday night with an overnight bag and a scowl but his smile when he sees Daisy lights up his entire face.  He hugs her, then Fred and claps Tom on the shoulder before turning to Ellie.

“Wonderful,” she says with a grin, “I hope you brought some jeans in that bag.”

His eyes widen. “Why?”

“We have lots planned and you can’t go about in suits the whole time.”

His eyes widen even more and Ellie thinks that if Daisy hadn’t been blocking the way, he would have turned tail and headed back to Stonebridge.

“What, exactly, is planned?” he asks suspiciously.

“Beth is having a barbecue tomorrow for Lizzie’s first birthday, and we’ll be hosting everyone the following Saturday at a ‘end school break, almost summer’ bash.  Lucy and Ollie have invited us for supper on Sunday, and then Tom’s playing in a football tournament on Monday.”

“Tabitha’s having a party on Tuesday,” Daisy pipes up, “and then the drama group is getting together on Wednesday for rehearsals and I’d like you to come and watch.”

“You and I have been invited to Maggie and Jocelyn’s on Thursday, and Mark’s invited us out to Traders on Friday.”

“When is this a holiday?” he asks plaintively.

“I’ve kept Sunday next free,” she says with a wide, cheerful grin.

“Just in time for me to leave for Stonebridge.”

“Stop being grumpy, Hardy, the days are going to just fly.”  There’s a slightly evil glint in her eyes.  “It’ll be fun!”

~~~~~

Hardy

He does his best.  He knows how to be a copper, how to interrogate a suspect, how to put the pieces of a puzzle together and find the guilty party.  He knows how to observe and detect and deduct and while no one will ever consider him a Sherlock Holmes, he’s at least competent enough to still be working after all these years and all his fuck ups.

But idle chit chat has always escaped him.  He’d always let Tess do the talking at parties while he retired to a secluded corner and watched her.  She’d loved the social round and he’d loved watching her and their circle of friends had soon learned they could include him or ignore him and he was equally comfortable with both.

Everyone at Beth’s is initially as awkward as he is, uncertain how to treat him when he isn’t there as a police officer.  He blesses the fact Daisy inherited her mother’s personality more than his own because he can see she’s enjoying herself as she smiles and chats with everyone.

He watches Miller, too, because she is, of course, in her element, surrounded by people.  She looks genuinely happy, pretty and radiant, and he nods to himself, a soft look in his eyes, because while it’s not quite two years since Joe confessed to killing Danny, she seems almost as open and happy as she’d been when he first met her.  He knows her relief at no longer having to look out for him is an added bonus.

Supper with Lucy and Ollie is a raucous affair and there are moments when he almost thinks Lucy’s flirting with him but they’re fleeting although even he notices Miller glaring at her sister although he has no idea why.  He overhears Lucy laughing and saying, “Like that, is it?” as he returns to the dining room while he and Ollie are clearing up, but neither woman will meet his questioning eyes.  He mentally shrugs it off as he returns to the kitchen and Ollie’s misguided but determined efforts to get a scoop on the South Coast Killer case.

Daisy takes him into town on Monday morning where she picks out some jeans and t-shirts for him, because she doesn’t want him going to the football tournament in a suit.  He changes his clothes and they go to the fields to meet Miller and Fred and he helps cheer Tom’s team on to a third place finish.  They go out for chips with the team and their parents afterwards to commiserate.

The party at Tabitha’s is for the kids in the drama production and their parents, to mix and mingle and get to know each other, and Hardy’s eyebrow rises as he watches Daisy chatting with a boy her age in the corner of Tabitha’s back yard.  As they walk home that night, he asks if Daisy wants to tell him anything, but she blushes furiously and refuses to answer.  He grins at the fact that she’s taken after him a little bit, too.

The rehearsal the next day is loud and chaotic yet somehow productive, and Tabitha pulls him aside to tell him Daisy’s been an absolute sport about working as a stage hand, and she hopes he’ll make the time to come see the production when it’s put on in July.  He looks at Daisy’s glowing face and promises to be there, and hopes the South Coast Killer or his prankster doesn’t decide to do anything to derail his plans.

Supper at Jocelyn and Maggie’s is blessedly low-key and adults only--except for Ollie, but it’s easier to tolerate him when Maggie’s around to keep the little shit in line.  Both Maggie and Jocelyn look healthy and happy even though Jocelyn’s eyesight is getting worse, and her ill-conceived idea to work with Sharon Bishop has, as Hardy could have predicted, gone catastrophically wrong.  He refrains from saying anything but apparently his expression is more eloquent than words if Miller’s mild scolding on the way home is anything to go by.

They have a couple of drinks at Traders the next night with Mark and Nige and Becca and whoever else wanders into the pub, some of whom are coppers Hardy worked with when he was DI.  He’s coerced into a game of darts-- _darts_ , for God’s sake--but Miller’s laughing and enjoying herself and she’s aggressively trying to win, even if she has to cheat, and he finds himself grinning at her glowing face as she thoroughly albeit dishonestly trounces him.

It’s their turn to host on Saturday, and he’s kept busy prepping food, chasing after Fred when he escapes from the back yard, and making sure Daisy’s cooking is good enough to, well, eat.  The house is full and noisy and Mark gives him a grin and says, “This is starting to be a habit for you.”

Hardy gives him a sour look. “Yet somehow it never gets easier.”

Mark munches on some sort of vegetable Miller bought and says, “The things we do for women, yah?”

Hardy gives him a steady, wide-eyed look, then smirks.  “If they only knew,” he growls and Mark laughs.

Far too early on Sunday morning Hardy opens his eyes and looks straight into Fred’s round face beaming at him from beneath unruly curly hair.

“Oi, son,” Hardy groans, “you need to learn how to tell time.”

He gives the boy room as Fred clambers on to the sofa bed and Hardy, with Fred’s warm, still-babyish weight snuggled against his chest, drifts contentedly back into sleep.

~~~~~

Ellie

Ellie stands with the kids and watches Hardy drive away and knows inviting him to spend the week in Broadchurch has only made things worse.  She’d hoped seeing him in her natural environment, in the social round of village life, would knock her back to her senses.  Instead, she’d watched him awkwardly navigating each social gathering with wide eyes and a nervous face, desperately trying to behave appropriately, and she’d had to more than once fight the urge to throw her arms around him and tell him everything would be all right.  He’d relaxed as the week wore on, and by the time they hosted their own barbecue, he was even smiling a little at their guests.

She’d blown her cover with Luce, though, when Ellie scolded her for flirting so outrageously with Hardy, even if it all obviously flew right over his mussed up head.  Luce had grinned and said, “Like that, is it?” then laughed when Hardy walked in on those words and raised a questioning eyebrow.  Luce at least let her loyalty to her sister win out and simply smiled winningly at him without telling him anything.

But the final blow to Ellie’s resolve came just yesterday during their barbecue, when Fred slipped out of the back garden onto the green, and Hardy had gone loping after him.  There’d been something about Hardy’s long, jean-clad legs devouring the ground seemingly without effort that had stopped her in her tracks and kept her riveted...at least until Luce had chuckled beside her and Beth had snorted a little, and she’d blushed furiously and hurried into the house before Hardy and Fred returned.

She has no intention of doing anything about any of it, but absolutely no one over the next week is surprised when she tells them she’s decided to take a break from dating.

~~~~~

Hardy

Hardy goes back to Stonebridge and settles into a routine. On Friday nights he gets in the car and drives to Broadchurch and returns to Stonebridge on Sunday.  During the week, he goes to work, he goes to the pub on Wednesdays to meet Missy, he calls Daisy and Miller every night, and he walks the river banks wondering when and where the South Coast Killer is going to strike again.

On the third Sunday after Miller stopped coming to Stonebridge, Hardy returns from Broadchurch, walks into his flat and pauses.

There’s something different, something... _odd_.  His skin crawls even as he feels fierce satisfaction when he realizes a small picture Daisy had given him of the two of them with Miller and the boys is missing from the side table located between the two bedrooms.

He calls Alistair Murray the next day from a new cell phone, and Murray’s waiting outside his flat when he arrives home that evening.

~~~~~

Ellie

Ellie disconnects from her daily phone call with Hardy, frowns, and wonders what’s bothering her.  It isn’t so much what he said as what he didn’t say--which is at least ninety per cent of any conversation with him--and the fact he called earlier than usual.

Daisy walks into the living room and gives her a questioning look.

“I think your dad’s up to something,” Ellie says.

Daisy shrugs.  “When isn’t he?”

Ellie grins, then says, “I think I’ll drop in on him tomorrow.  Spend a couple days.”

“Sure you don’t want to leave tonight?” Daisy says with a sly smile. “It’s still early.  If you leave now, you’d get there before nine.”

Ellie wrinkles her nose but she _knows_ he’s up to something, something he doesn’t want to tell her, and knowing Hardy, she has no time to lose.

~~~~~

Hardy’s eyes widen when he takes in her falsely smiling face and overnight bag and she feels a childish satisfaction that she’s able to surprise him.  With a resigned shake of his head he steps aside.

She walks in with a triumphant grin then stops dead in her tracks as she hears movement in his bedroom.  She gives him a horrified look.

“Somebody’s here?” she demands, her heart suddenly in her throat.

He gives her a confused scowl.  “Yah,” he says in a tone of voice that implies he has people visit his flat every other day.

Her stomach churns and she gapes while his confused frown deepens.  Just as he opens his mouth to say something, the door to his bedroom bursts open.

“Well, laddie, all done,” a hearty voice booms, and Ellie spins to stare with relief at Alistair Murray, carrying something that looks like a hand-held radar gun.  He’s big, burly and grizzled, his stubbly beard more gray than brown, but his eyes are a bright, sharp blue and they rake over her as he pauses in mid-step.  “You must be Miller.  You look exactly as Hardy described you.”

“Really?” she asks and shoots Hardy a suspicious look.

He rolls his eyes.  “Anything?” he asks Murray.

“Clean as a whistle,” Murray says with a grin and strolls to the coffee table and picks up a leather portfolio that he opens to reveal a pad of paper and a pen.  “But always happy to take a road trip to soothe my paranoid partner’s nerves.  Did it often enough when Daisy was a bairn, aye?”

“Oh, aye,” Hardy replies sarcastically.

“Let me give you my bill,” Murray says, writing busily.  “Five rooms, three closets, four hours because you’re a picky arse--” Hardy rolls his eyes and Ellie grins “--at three hundred an hour, with a discount for old time’s sake--” he finishes with a flourish and hands the portfolio to Hardy.  “Read it and weep--and pay in cash.”

Ellie leans over Hardy’s shoulder and the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.  Beside the random numbers Murray scrawled out are the words ‘the walls have eyes and ears’.  She gasps and both Hardy and Murray shoot her warning looks.

“For that amount, you’re buying, mate,” she quickly says and Murray’s laugh booms through the flat.

~~~~~

They climb into Murray’s van, and he drives to the centre of town where they leave everything locked in the vehicle, including their cell phones, and walk to a pub they’ve never seen before.

“On the off-chance somebody managed to plant a bug on my van while I was in your flat,” Murray says as they sit at a table with their drinks.

“What, exactly, are we talking about?” Hardy asks with a scowl.

“There are cameras in every room, along with microphones.  The cameras are within the walls or the ceiling, while the microphones are mainly in picture frames.”

Ellie scowls, shooting a worried look at Hardy, who’s also scowling but with anger rather than fear.

“But how are they being put into the walls?” he demands.  “I realize I’m not home on the weekends, but you’d think I’d notice fresh paint!  I’m a detective, for God’s sake!”

Ellie frowns, then says, “Unless they’re not being put in from your side of the wall.”

Hardy freezes and stares at her, amber eyes wide and unblinking.  “My neighbour?” he demands.  “It’s my neighbour?”

Murray shakes his head.  “You don’t share walls with your neighbour.”  He looks thoughtfully up at the ceiling of the pub.  “There’s space within ceilings for wires and pipes and insulation.  Same with walls.  Did you know there’s a small utility room beside your kitchen?  It likely has an access panel into the ceiling.”

“Utility...” comprehension dawns on Hardy and Ellie’s faces.

“And the people who know that room exists and has access to it...” Murray adds with an expressive shrug.

“The maintenance crew!” Hardy yelps.

Murray nods complacently.  “Brilliant, really,” he says.  “Who notices the maintenance crew?  If you had to describe the last person who was in your flat to fix the sink, would you be able to do it?  Sometimes the best place to hide is in plain sight, and you barely have to disguise yourself, do you?  Would you recognize any one of them if they’re out of uniform and sitting in the pub beside you?”

Hardy’s mouth hangs open as he shares an incredulous look with Ellie then turns back to his former partner.

“Oh, Murray,” he breathes, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Not sure, laddie, but you’re going to have to learn.  I’m retiring next month, and I expect you at the bash.  Bring money because you’ll be making good on all those ‘owe you one’ favours I’ve done for you over the years.”

“Retiring?  You?  What are you going to do with your time?”

“I’ve already been asked if I’d be interested in working on cold cases.  A consultant, working throughout the country.  Maybe I’ll finally find that sleepy little village to call me own.”  He glances between Hardy and Ellie and back again.  “Should be interesting. Maybe bring some closure to families who are still waiting for answers.”

“Just you?”  Ellie asks.

“For now.  Of course, it’s been a long time since I interviewed suspects but it’s just like riding a bicycle, yah?  You never forget?”  He shrugs and takes a gulp of beer.  “I’ll start with just the forensics, though, since that’s usually where any new evidence will be found.  What about you, Hardy?  When do you plan on hanging up the badge?”

He shrugs.  “Never.  What would I be without it?”

Murray grins.  “Oh, aye, that’s always the question, isn’t it?”  He glances at Ellie and says, “Well, go get the next round, Hardy, while Miller and I spend some time getting to know each other.”

Hardy rolls his eyes but gets readily to his feet.  “Enjoy the flirting while you can,” he growls, “because we have a lot of work to do tonight.”

“Including finding a hotel,” Ellie calls as he begins to push his way through the crowd.

“Now, Miller, we’ve barely met,” Murray booms and she smacks his arm even as she laughs, then leans forward with bright, interested eyes.  She finds him utterly charming, with a wide grin and a laugh that shakes his entire body and fills the room.  Ellie’s fascinated, trying to imagine Hardy as this man’s partner without one or the other of them being in a straitjacket within a month or up on charges.  Murray watches with an obviously fond smile as Hardy disappears into the crowd.

“One thing about Hardy,” Murray says, “he’s a good man to have on your side, and not just because he’s skinny enough to wind his way through a crush like that.”

Ellie smiles.  “Even when he’s exhausting?”

“Especially when he’s exhausting.  He keeps you going when you want to stop.  That’s valuable in a partner, and a copper, and why, in spite of having the social skills of a bear woken early from hibernation, he’s a good Detective Inspector.  He demands the best.”

Ellie tilts her head as she considers the older man in front of her.  “You seem very fond of him.”

“We were partners for three years in Glasgow.”

“Are you still in Glasgow?”

“Na, we both got out of there as fast as we could at the end of it.  I knew even then he wouldn’t be walking the cobbles forever.  He transferred to Sandbrook, met Tess and fell fast and hard, although I never thought her heart was really in it.  Oh, she loved him, but never enough.”

Ellie files that tidbit away for further thought, then says, “So, what happened at the end of it that had both of you leaving so quickly?”

“He saved my life, then I saved his,” Murray says and takes another gulp of beer.

Ellie waits, an eagerly expectant look on her face and Murray considers her thoughtfully then laughs.

“You’re good,” he says, “I’ll give you that.”  He leans forward and lowers his voice, his eyes intent on hers.  “We were called out to a domestic disturbance.  The guy was hopped up on the drug of the day, probably more than one.  I was ushering the woman out of the flat when the husband moved to stab me in the back.  We hadn’t even realized he had a knife!  Hardy--well, he may not be much of a lover and he’s even less of a fighter, but he had that crazy bastard down on the ground in less than ten seconds.”  Murray shakes his head.  “So proud he was, too, as he got the handcuffs on, at least until he realized the husband had managed to do some damage with the knife anyway.  Got him right here,” he says and indicates a spot just above his right hip and Ellie remembers the scar she’d noticed on Hardy’s torso.  “Pretty deep, too, but at least the adrenaline kept Hardy going until the bloke was in handcuffs.  ‘Course, while the wife begins having hysterics over the husband being manhandled, Hardy chooses that moment to collapse in a puddle of blood, the whiny bastard.”

Ellie’s jaw drops.  “Are you serious?”

Murray nods with a rueful grimace.  “So I had Hardy bleeding on the floor, the husband making a break for it while handcuffed, the wife helping the husband to escape, and Hardy shouting at me to ‘go after them, you daft bastard’,” he shakes his head.  “Oi, what a night.”

“So what did you do?” she asks, wide-eyed.

“I put pressure on his wound, called for back-up, told him the arsehole was handcuffed and wouldn’t get far, and then told him to shut the fuck up, I was saving his life.”

“Were you?”

“Oh, aye, he bled like a son-of-a-bitch.  Who knew such a skinny wanker had so much blood in him?”  He shakes his head.  “Our backup found the couple two blocks away, trying to saw off the handcuffs.”  He sighs.  “After that, we both decided Glasgow wasn’t where we wanted to be as coppers.  He headed to Sandbrook once he was all healed up, and I headed to London and switched to computer forensics.  A lot less likely to run into a knife there.”

Ellie gives him a sober look.  “Did he really save your life?” she asks.

Murray’s smile fades away.  “He really did save my life,” he says somberly.  “I never saw the knife coming, and if Hardy hadn’t been there, well...” he spreads his hands and shrugs expressively.  “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for the laddie.”

“And I take advantage of it every chance I get,” Hardy growls from behind her then sets the drinks on the table.  “Shared the story of my stupidity and your heroism, Murray?”

“Stupidity?” Ellie asks as Murray grins, shrugs and takes his beer.

“Oh, aye,” Hardy says, deadpan, “I stepped the wrong way.  I was trying to get out of the arsehole’s way.”  She gives him a speaking look and he shrugs.  “Murray had been particularly blustery that day.  He was annoying me.”

Murray grins and lifts up his mug.  “To your best mistake of my life,” he says.

Hardy slowly grins and Ellie blinks at the brightness in his face as he clinks his mug against Murray’s.

~~~~~

Hardy

They get rooms in a hotel not far from his flat then he calls SOCO and tells them there are cameras and microphones in his flat.  Murray sends them the footage from the FLIR so they can pinpoint the locations while he calls Sal and Webster then his CS and tells them his stalker is somebody on his building’s maintenance crew.  Sal and Webster will be at his building in the morning to begin the interviews.

Once both Murray and Miller leave him alone in his room--with Miller giving him an indecipherable looks over her shoulder as she leaves--he lets the stress of the last few weeks drain out of him to be replaced with fierce triumph that at last they’re making progress on _something_.

For the first time in weeks, he sleeps dreamlessly.

~~~~~

By the time Hardy and Miller get back to his flat the following afternoon, SOCO has removed all the cameras and microphones Murray had located, and Sal and Webster have interviewed everyone on the maintenance crew...except for one.

“Karla Clarke didn’t come in to work today,” Sal says.  “We sent a couple of uniforms to the address on file, only it doesn’t exist.”

Hardy’s eyes widen and his nostrils flare.

Ellie says, “I’m assuming a background check brought up a different Karla Clarke?”

Webster nods.  “Eighty years old, deaf as a post, and definitely not doing maintenance at an apartment building.  She also doesn’t know anyone else with the same name, female or male.”

“Fingerprints?” Hardy snaps.  “A picture?”

Wee Sal and Webster share a worried look and shake their heads.  “Neither are a requirement for this job,” Webster says.

“Best we can hope for is some fingerprints on the cameras and microphones,” Sal says hopefully.

Hardy scowls.  “Yah,” he says, “at least we have the cameras this time.  Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

~~~~~

They don’t, and he’s not surprised.  Whoever ‘Karla Clarke’ really is, she’s clever and she’s quick on her feet.  He’d almost admire her if she wasn’t such a pain in the arse.

Miller returns to Broadchurch and he sits and broods in his office, thinking that both the South Coast Killer and his stalking case have stalled.

He leans back in his chair with a scowl and remembers Murray’s words about hiding in plain sight, and he wonders if that’s what the South Coast Killer is doing, too.  Is he someone the victims saw often or someone they never noticed when they did see him?  Is that why he does it?  To _force_ someone to notice him?

He slowly sits up straight in his chair.  The killer has never contacted them or the media.  He isn’t gloating like some of them do, so is it, instead, that he likes being invisible?  An ambush predator, no one knows he’s there until it’s too late.  Hardy slides papers out of the way until he finds the list of six men from the shelters who are the most promising possibilities in the case.  He thoughtfully taps a finger against the top of his desk and wonders if there’s a way to light a fire under both cases with one bold move.

~~~~~

He pulls into Broadchurch Friday evening and heads straight to Jocelyn and Maggie’s, where they greet him with wary surprise.

“I need a favour,” he says without preamble.

Jocelyn smirks.  “What?  Another will?”

“No.  A news story.”

Maggie hears him out and says, “Why me?”

“You’re the best out of a bad lot,” he says and gives her a small smile.  “It’s either you, Ollie, or Karen White, and at least I trust you.”

Maggie rolls her eyes then says, “I’m flattered.  I suppose.”

Jocelyn gives him a thoughtful look.  “Is your CS all right with this?”

“He’s all right with anything that gets the case moving again...except another murder.”  Hardy’s mouth twists.  “The killer’s been quiet too long.  There’s a body somewhere out there, waiting to be found, and maybe more than one.  The man is a predator, hiding in the weeds, and there are only two ways to lure him out:  give him the bait he likes, or threaten his camouflage.  I won’t put anyone at risk so we need to threaten his camouflage.”  He gives them a wide-eyed look from dark, pained eyes.  “There’s another reason why I’ve come to you, Maggie.  Between you and Jocelyn, you can make sure this article won’t hurt the case when we do finally make an arrest.”

“Karen White has greater reach,” Maggie says.

“Partner with her, if you like,” Hardy says, “but you write the article.  You, at least, will give me a little bit of praise, which is what I need to flush out my prankster while we’re also trying to push the South Coast Killer out of hiding.”

“What makes you think she’s going to do something if she sees an article that actually makes you look good for once?” Jocelyn asks.

“Because her goal is to humiliate me.  Everything she’s done has been intended to show me in the worst possible light, from telling my coworkers I have sex with underage girls, to telling my daughter I was a cuckold, to releasing that video.  If she sees that few people are buying her version of my story, maybe she’ll come out of hiding long enough to make a mistake.  Maybe they both will.”

Maggie stares, horrified.  “Hardy, that’s...”

“All I’ve got,” he says.

~~~~~

The article is published on Monday and it’s as beautifully inflammatory as he’d hoped it would be...to people who know how to read between the lines.  He hopes it’s also complimentary enough to lure Karla Clarke into doing something. 

He’s already put discreet surveillance on the six men and the seven shelters and now all he can do is wait and hope the article will cause the South Coast Killer to panic.

He loves it when they panic.

~~~~~

Karla Clarke reacts first.

The pictures are on his coffee table Wednesday night, splayed out in an arc across the surface.  He stares at them from the doorway for what seems like hours before he finally steps into the flat and closes the door behind him.

He edges cautiously closer as he pulls out his phone and calls SOCO, then wee Sal and Webster, his blood burning bright with grim determination and almost feral joy.

Because the stakes have changed.

He stares down at the top photo, his teeth bared in a humorless, triumphant grin.

It’s a before and after pairing.  The ‘before’ portion shows him with Daisy, walking on a street in Stonebridge; the ‘after’ photo is the exact same picture only he’s been edited out, as if he’d never been there in the first place.

His phone rings just as SOCO arrives.

“What?” he barks.

“You bloody _wanker_!”

He waves the SOCO techs towards the coffee table even as he scowls and says, “What have I done now?”

“When were you going to tell me about the pictures?”

He stumbles as he steps out into the hallway.  “How the bloody hell do you know about those already?”

“Wee Sal and I have an understanding.”

He closes his eyes and prays for strength, then says, “Well, then you know I just found them--and I’m going to have some choice words for her when she gets here!”  He suddenly grins.  “Oh, Miller, this is outstanding!”

“ _Outstanding_?”

“Aye!  These pictures are obviously threats.  They’ve raised the stakes and that’s just what I was hoping for!”

“What?  What you were hoping for?  _What--_?”

“Don’t you see, Miller?  They’ll _have_ to let us in to see the Ashworths and Ricky now!”

~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was hoping to post two chapters this week because I'm going to be going "computer silent" starting on Thursday (back Monday afternoon). It doesn't look like that's going to happen, so the next chapter is likely going to be delayed. :(


	12. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Siblings are working and I've been left alone for the day--so I can post!! :D I'd thought I'd better post this now because we're going to be drinking and peeling potatoes tonight and that's always a tricky combination (for potato salad for the dance tomorrow). Oh, and having an hour bus ride to the airport, 1.5 hour wait to board, and then 1.5 hours in the air? LOTS of editing/writing gets done! \o/
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!

Ellie

Ellie prints the pictures and goes through them each day with her heart in her throat and her stomach churning.

There are ten in all, five of which are Hardy with Daisy. One shows him with Sal, and another with Missy where they're both slouched over a table in the pub. There are two with Ellie and she blinks at the expression on his face as he looks at her, something she never noticed at the time. The final picture shows him standing with a group of coppers at a crime scene, wind ruffling his hair as he squints against the sun, listening intently to the two uniformed officers standing next to him. In the after versions, he's been edited from the pictures in such a way that it looks as if he'd never been there.

Ellie scowls, because the stalker is telling him he could be removed from the picture--literally--and no one would notice.

It chills her as much as it seems to have thrilled him.

SOCO finds no fingerprints, but he tells her Thursday night with almost vicious triumph that they have permission to see Ricky Gillespie and Lee Ashworth on Monday morning, and Claire on Monday afternoon. Ellie's not sure if these interviews will be any more productive than the others. Their correspondence and phone calls are monitored, after all, and if they are making blatant death threats against the lead investigator of the case against them, well, she has no doubt more charges would have been laid long before now. But she's a detective, and she's learned the hard way to leave no stone unturned.

She hasn't been able to go to Stonebridge due to a violent assault on a tourist Wednesday afternoon. While they close the case quickly enough, she's only just finished the paperwork and--she glances at the clock and nods--Hardy will be home in less an hour.

She turns back to the pictures and rubs her aching temples. She's going to give him a piece of her mind about his foolish decision to provoke Karla Clarke because he's right: the stakes have been raised dangerously high.

Ellie recognizes a threat when she sees one.

~~~~~

Of course, Ellie thinks sourly, this has to be the night Hardy doesn't arrive at his usual time, and he doesn't answer his phone when she calls. She sends Daisy, Tom and Fred to the skateboard park because she doesn't want them to see her pacing the house, her curses getting louder and more creative by the minute.

It's almost nine by the time Hardy pulls up in front of the house and Ellie's worked herself into a fine frenzy. She flings open the door and stands on the step, eyes blazing, hands on hips.

"Where have you been? And why haven't you been answering your bloody phone?" she snaps as he opens the gate and walks towards the house.

He slows, eyes widening, and she knows he's flipping through every possible social rule he knows to determine why she's angry. It doesn't take long, she thinks snidely, since he knows so few of them.

Then his face changes as he thinks of another reason why she might be angry.

"What? What's happened?" He hurries up the walk.

"You happened, you--you--you--" Words fail her.

That stops him. "Me? What have I done?"

She glares.

"Lately, I mean."

She just rolls her eyes and stomps into the house.

"Miller! Come on!" he calls as he follows her, closing the door behind him.

She spins to face him. "You should have been here hours ago!"

He blinks in confusion. "I was late leaving the station," he says blankly. "New case came in and I had to finish the assignment."

"And you didn't think to call? And why weren't you answering your phone?"

"Obviously not, and I never heard the phone. Must still be on vibrate. What's going on? You've never worried before."

"You've never received death threats before! You could have been run off the road, dead in a ditch somewhere, and we wouldn't have known anything until the police came knocking!"

He's obviously flustered and she's viciously glad, even as a small part of her thinks she may be being somewhat unreasonable.

"For God's sake, don't _fuss_ , Miller! I left instructions at the station a long time ago and I carry them in my wallet. If I'm ever found dead in a ditch, they'll go to Tess first so Daisy won't hear the news from a stranger."

Ellie gasps, and her eyes fill with tears. "You--you--you--I don't even have words bad enough to call you!"

He's looks rather adorably befuddled and combined with Ellie's worry and relief and her heartbreaking realization he truly doesn't understand how devastating such news would be to all of them, something snaps inside her.

Almost before she realizes what she's doing, she steps close, pulls his head down and presses a firm, hard kiss against his mouth.

She doesn't give him time to react but almost immediately releases him and takes a hasty step away. His mouth is hanging open and his eyes are just as wide as she glares and says, "You're an idiot!"

She turns and storms down the hall towards the kitchen as the back door opens and Daisy, Tom and Fred tumble in. Daisy, glowing with fresh air and happiness, flings herself against her father and he gives her the smile he reserves especially for her. He hugs her tight, eyes closed, then opens them to look at Ellie with a surprisingly vulnerable expression.

She meets his gaze steadily, then goes into the kitchen. Once she's out of sight, she leans against the wall, and puts a trembling hand to her mouth and closes her eyes.

She's started it now, she thinks, and tries to steady her breathing. She takes a moment to decipher her feelings: excited, angry, afraid and curious as to what he's going to do next.

~~~~~

Hardy

Hardy has no idea what to do.

~~~~~

Ellie

The weekend passes in a tense haze, where Ellie makes a point of avoiding being alone with Hardy and his solemn dark eyes follow her wherever she goes.

Not that it's difficult to avoid him, she realizes with growing irritation. Daisy has him booked up for most of the weekend because of the theatre group, and if he isn't off with her, he's watching Tom's football or taking Fred to the playground, or all five of them are off to the arcade. Really, she thinks with annoyance on Saturday night as she and Hardy clear up after dinner, she hadn't realized how much time he spent with the kids during his weekends in Broadchurch.

Maybe it's better this way, she thinks as they wash up in almost perfect silence, at least for this particular weekend. She's nervous and skittish and he's almost as bad, giving her surprisingly bashful looks from beneath long lashes, and reaching out to touch her then shying away.

Beneath it all, she feels an almost delicious sense of anticipation even though she's terrified and excited, wondering what's going to happen next, and already second-guessing crossing the line.

Because he isn't going to change. That's not how life works. He's always going to be grumpy in the mornings. And the afternoons. And the evenings. He isn't going to suddenly sing her love songs or become a great romantic or wait on her hand and foot.

She hides a shudder because she had all of that with Joe. What she wants is something real this time round.

Not that she's sure what's happening with Hardy is anything more than a moment of insanity, but when they finish washing up and he puts a hand on her arm as she moves to go past him, she doesn't shrug it away.

"Miller," he says, surprisingly gentle, "what's--"

She shakes her head. "I'm not talking about this now."

He gives her a puzzled look from bottomless brown eyes. "Miller--"

"Not _now_ , Hardy," she says. He looks so uncertain she can't help but lean up to kiss him, a softer, slightly longer kiss, but she still hurries from the kitchen before he has a chance to respond.

~~~~~

On Sunday, Ellie takes Tom to his football practice, and after, she takes him for a 99 and a walk, and tells him she kissed Hardy.

"Why are you telling me?" he says with a disgusted grimace.

"Because this isn't just me going on a date with somebody you don't know," she says carefully. "And...if...well, it would be serious, Tom. Not just a couple of dates, and you'd never meet him anyway." She pulls a face. "I'm mucking this all up, aren't I?"

"A bit," Tom says, then smiles. "I understand." He pauses, taking a thoughtful bite of his 99 and says, "Does he make you happy? The way Dad did, before it all went wrong?"

She ponders the question, then says, "Not like Dad did, but he does make me happy. In a strange, Hardy-esque kind of way."

"Are you going to keep calling him Hardy?"

"Definitely."

"He going to keep calling you Miller?"

"Probably. Do you _like_ him, Tom?"

He shrugs. "He's all right. Rubbish at football, though."

"When have you seen him play football?"

"He and Daisy kick the ball around sometimes during my practice. She's bad, but he's worse." Ellie grins and Tom gives her a smile and shrugs. "If he makes you happy, Mum, then that makes me happy."

She blinks back a sudden rush of tears and slings her arm around the baby boy who is no longer a baby.

~~~~~

Sunday evening, Ellie gets in her car and follows Hardy to Stonebridge, her stomach in knots. It begins flipping as they walk into his flat and he tosses his keys on the coffee table then turns to look at her, hands on lean hips, brown eyes narrowed.

"Is _now_ the time to talk about this past weekend?" he growls.

She gives him a nervous smile. "I suppose it's as good a time as any."

"You kissed me."

"You noticed."

"Twice."

"My, you really _are_ a detective!"

He rolls his eyes. "Not that either was any good."

"Hey!"

His lips twitch towards a smile before he catches himself. "Care to explain how we went from 'I'm not hugging you' to snogging in the kitchen?"

"Well, it's not like it happened overnight!"

"You could have fooled me!"

"And apparently I did."

"This isn't a game, Miller!"

"No, but this is bloody ridiculous! I don't know why I have to struggle to figure out if you even want me to snog you!"

" _You_ have to--are you _daft_? You're the one who ran off in the middle of the night and all I'd done was stand in my kitchen!"

She feels a flash of heat at the memory, because he'd looked damned good standing in his kitchen...if he hadn't still been reeling from the remnants of a recurring nightmare, that is. She plants her hands on her hips and glares.

"Right," she says, "that does it."

"What the bloody hell does that mean?"

"It means I'm tired of sparring with you."

"Does that mean you're going to stop?"

"For tonight," she says with a decisive nod.

"But not tomorrow?"

"That depends on how well you shag me tonight."

She watches as his eyes widen and his jaw drops.

"What?" he finally manages.

"You heard me." She tries to hide a smile as she makes a show of looking him up and down. "I'm not holding out a lot of hope you'll be a spectacular shag, but maybe you'll surprise me."

"Surprise _you_?" he sputters.

"Well? You'd better decide what you're going to do before I change my mind."

He's caught her up in his arms before she has time to blink.

~~~~~

They don't make it to the bedroom.

~~~~~

They don't even make it to the sofa.

~~~~~

He tells her she's beautiful and when he whispers 'I love you' against her ear, so softly she almost misses it, she buries her face in his shoulder and refuses to cry.

~~~~~

Later, after making their way to the bedroom on wobbly knees and collapsing on the bed--both of them under the covers this time--Ellie asks, "When did you know?"

"Know what?"

His voice is groggy with sleep, and she smiles. She props herself up, her head resting on her hand.

"About this," she says, waving vaguely between them.

"What? Sex? Me mum set me down when I was about twelv-oof!"

He rubs the spot on his chest she's smacked and pouts. She rolls her eyes and he laughs, a real, genuine laugh, and she can't help but stare, even as she laughs too, because he's...sparking. She doesn't know how else to describe it. There's an openness in him that's usually only there when he's with Daisy, and if there is any part of her that is still holding back, it surrenders.

Gladly.

She says, between giggles, "No, us! You and me. I honestly didn't think of you like this until a few weeks back."

"Yah? What changed?"

"I don't know. I mean, I know the moment. When we were in the kitchen and you told me about your nightmares and Marney and something...a switch was flipped and...I dunno. I just knew."

He watches her, smile gone now, dark eyes wide and intent, steady and calm.

She smiles nervously and puts her palm over the small scar that marks the spot of his pacemaker surgery. He relaxes into her touch with a contented sigh, closing his eyes.

"I knew before then," he says softly.

"Really?" she says, her smile growing wider. "How long before?"

"A long time before."

She laughs. "Stop teasing! Do you know exactly when you knew?"

"Oh, aye."

There's something in his voice that catches her attention, and she freezes then lifts herself higher.

"Why don't you want to tell me?"

He presses a hand over hers, where it's still resting against his chest. He opens his eyes and looks very seriously at her.

"It was when I told you about Joe," he says.

She's instantly back in the interrogation room, confused by Hardy's questions ( _please ellie_ )( _don't call me ellie_ ), the sickening realization it really had been Joe, retching in the corner, Hardy's hand on her shoulder.

She blinks the memories away and focuses on what he's just confessed to her.

"Then?" she squeaks out.

He grimaces ruefully. "It wasn't necessarily sexual. I mean, I didn't think 'I can't wait to shag this one' while you were puking on my shoes. It was just...when you broke, I broke right along with you. All I wanted was to take your pain away, protect you as much as I could. You weren't only my DS, or my partner, and though we weren't even close to being friends, I knew. I didn't want it to be Joe, I wanted you to keep your happy, perfect life, because...I knew."

She stares and can't think what to say. He's watching her with a wary expression, and she realizes he's braced himself for whatever her reaction may be.

"When you left," she says slowly, "you knew then?"

He nods.

"But...you left! And you never tried to contact me!"

"You didn't feel the same way," he says quietly. "No hugs, remember? No comfort from me at all. And you were very... _final_ that day. Besides, even if I'd had a clue how to change things, you weren't ready, not for anybody. You needed time, you didn't need me."

Her face crumples.

"You're an idiot," she says through her tears.

"Awright," he says cautiously. He watches her with a worried frown as she blinks and sniffles. "Do you need a hug?" he finally asks.

She laughs a watery laugh. "Hug it out?"

"People do that."

"Yes, they do. Just...let me go to the loo and wash my face."

"Awright."

"And then we can shag it out."

His jaw drops, but he quickly rallies as she slips out of bed. "What--again?"

She pauses at the door and looks over her shoulder with one eyebrow raised. "How long has it been since you had sex, Hardy?"

"About an hour. I knew you weren't paying attention."

"Hey--be nice to me!"

"Oh, am I allowed now?"

She scrunches up her face and says, "Don't be a smart-arse."

He laughs. "Fine, I'll be as nice as I can be."

~~~~~

He is.

~~~~~

Hardy

The morning is just like any other morning, with him growly and monosyllabic during breakfast, except she kisses him when she walks into the kitchen and again before they leave the flat. Once they step out the door, they're immediately two Detective Inspectors investigating a crime and not two people who had spent the night making love for the first time.

They're in full police officer mode by the time the guard ushers Ricky Gillespie into the small interrogation room with a two-way mirror taking up one wall. The guard takes up position at the door while Ricky settles across the table from them, a questioning look on his moon-shaped face.

"How are you, Ricky?" Hardy asks.

"I've had better days," Ricky says with a sardonic shrug. "Why are you here?"

Hardy raises an eyebrow then opens the folder he's brought with him and slides copies of the pictures that were on his coffee table across to him.

"Do you know anything about these?"

Ricky frowns, glances at them and shrugs. "No. Should I?"

"Have you heard about some of the things that have been happening to me over the last few months?"

Ricky's frown deepens. "No."

"You don't know about a video that was released on the Internet?" Miller asks. "A video of Hardy?"

He shrugs and shakes his head. "He's not exactly my preferred topic of interest." He smirks as he looks at him. "I'm not wasting my precious time online searching your name."

Hardy leans back, expressionless, his eyes wide and steady. "No, I suppose you wouldn't."

Ricky sits impassive as the silence stretches between them.

"I went to the cemetery," Hardy says, so abruptly both Ricky and Miller start a little. "On the anniversary. Paid my respects."

Ricky's face twists then smooths again.

"Went and saw Cate, too."

Ricky shrugs. "Still drinking?"

"Sober three months when I saw her."

Ricky's gaze slides away from his. "Well...good for her, I suppose."

They lapse into silence then Hardy glances at the guard at the door. "We're done."

The guard nods and Ricky gets to his feet. He shuffles to the door then turns and looks at Hardy.

"Whoever's behind those," he says and nods at the pictures, "you obviously knows it's not me. I don't like you because you wouldn't let it go, but you did it for Pippa. I can't blame you for that."

Hardy stares unmoving at the closed door, Miller's hand warm on his arm.

~~~~~

Lee Ashworth is still in great shape, muscles bulging beneath his prison uniform, and Hardy thinks he must spend most of his time working on maintaining that physique. Perhaps it's a form of self-defense: be stronger than everyone else and life will be somewhat easier. As Ashworth sits at the table, he gives them a small smile and Hardy's eyes narrow. He seems lighter somehow, relaxed, and examines the pictures with what seems to be honest curiosity.

He puts them down and shakes his head. "I don't know anything about these, or any of the other things that have been going on."

"You seem...different," Hardy says slowly.

Lee smirks with a flash of his old arrogant bravado. "I'm ready to meet my fate, if Claire ever tells the truth and we finally get our deals with the Crown."

"She's the hold-out then?" Miller asks.

"Are you surprised?"

"Not really."

Lee sighs. "She keeps changing her story, and, of course, every time she makes a new allegation, it needs to be investigated since our deals aren't valid if we're lying to the prosecutors."

"Same old tactics as before."

"Yes."

Hardy is listening carefully, and says now, "How did you know I was hiding Claire?"

Lee smirks, and Hardy knows he's considering telling a lie. Probably instinct, he thinks ruefully. Then the other man sighs and says, "She told me."

Hardy lifts an eyebrow. "How did she tell you?"

"I kept my cell phone number. She'd text or call me, especially after you parked her in that dreary little cottage and she was bored out of her mind. Of course, then I got here, and she played the frightened wife to the hilt." He shook his head. "I told her it wouldn't work."

"What was she hoping to accomplish?" Miller asks.

He nods at Hardy. "Lay the groundwork to discredit this one and cause enough stress to knock him permanently out of commission, hopefully without actually having to lay a hand on him." He shrugs as he turns his gaze back go Hardy. "It was the only thing we could think of to get you to let it go. Not exactly a foolproof plan, but desperate times and all that."

"Why did it take you so long to come looking for her?" Hardy says.

Lee glances away and sighs. "I really did want to get away from the media attention. I was hoping things would calm down after a few months. Then..." he pauses for so long that Hardy wonders if he's going to continue at all. He sighs. "There was a girl. Sophie." A soft, tender smile curves his mouth. "She was from London, but had been living and working in France for a couple of years. She'd never heard of me."

"So why'd you come back then?"

Lee's mouth twists. "Sophie is beautiful and sweet and so, so innocent, and I..." he swallows heavily. "You once said I was stained with death. I couldn't stand to put that stain on her. Besides, there's a pull between Claire and me. When we're together, it's passionate and dark and ugly and...irresistible, although I did try." He pauses, eyes dark with memories then he shrugs with a rueful grimace. "Besides, who else would have me, after what happened?"

"Where's Sophie now?" Miller says.

Lee shakes his head, his eyes sad. "Still in France, I suppose. She called, you know, after the news hit the papers. I had to tell her it was true, although she didn't want to believe it. Haven't talked to her since."

~~~~~

As they're escorted to the women's side of the jail, Hardy says, "I'd like to speak with Claire alone."

"What? Why?"

"Because this has always been a battle of wills with her, just the two of us. I want her to remember that. This prankster is focused on me, and if Claire is involved, I don't want her suddenly thinking you're enough in the picture to be a target. I don't want to remind her of your role in breaking Sandbrook, if that's what's behind all this."

"Well, what am I supposed to do then?"

"Go in the observation room. Watch. Listen. Catch the things I'm going to miss."

~~~~~

Claire's face is expressionless, her eyes wide and limpid green as she walks in. She sits at the table and says, "Running alone today, Alec? No loyal little pet Ellie to do your dirty work?" She glances at the two-way mirror. "Or is she back there, preparing to play good cop?"

"Nice to see you haven't lost your spirit, Claire."

She leans back, arms crossed. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company? Have you missed me so much, you needed a visit?" Disdain drips from every syllable.

"I need your help."

She barks a harsh laugh. "Really. Why would I do anything to help you? After all, I came to you for help, Alec, and you betrayed me." She glances around the small visitors room then back to him. "You promised to protect me and I end up here."

"You murdered a child," he says with calm finality.

"I didn't murder anyone. I gave her something to help her sleep. Lee's the one--"

"No more games, Claire," he says softly, "no more lies." He opens the folder and lays out the pictures. "Do you know anything about these?"

She frowns, shooting him a puzzled look before reaching out and dragging the pictures closer. She examines them carefully and Hardy sees the amused smile curving her mouth when she finally glances back at him.

"Am I _supposed_ to know anything about these?"

"You tell me."

"I don't know anything."

"Have you heard what's been happening to me these last few months?"

"We-ell, I heard about the video--really, hasn't everyone?" She grins. "We're not allowed on those sites in here but I heard it was quite impressive." Her contemptuous eyes flick over him. "The video, I mean."

His expression doesn't change. "How did you hear about it?"

"We have newspapers, Alec," she says sarcastically. "We even e-mail and chat with people on the outside. I have friends, now. I'm not isolated in some cottage in the middle of nowhere, completely at your mercy." She leans forward, eyes wide and intent on his. "Not everyone believes your version of events."

"Anyone in particular? Anyone who feels the need to take up the fight for you?"

"As if I'd tell you, after everything you've done to me."

"Really? What have I done? What have you told people I've done?"

"The truth."

"Or your version of the truth, anyway."

She smirks. "You took advantage of me, Alec, and you know it."

Now he, too, leans forward, eyes boring into hers. "Then lay your complaint, Claire," he almost purrs. "Give dates and details. Accuse me in open court, drag me through the mud, and let a jury decide."

Her smirk is wiped away in an instant and she leans back. "What's the point?" she says. "None of the prosecutors believe me. They're all biased towards you."

"Aye," he says drily, "if for no other reason than I've never murdered a child."

"I had _nothing_ to do with it! It was all Lee and Ricky!"

"How much did you give her, Claire? Out of that flask? Was she already dead when Lee picked up that pillow?"

Claire's face hardens. "Go to hell, Alec."

He stares impassively back at her.

She must see something in his eyes, something in his face, because her expression changes, becomes cunning. "Is Ellie behind the mirror? Won't you allow her to come in and say hello?"

He doesn't blink. "Miller's exactly where she wants to be," he says flatly.

"Oh, ho, like that, is it?" She leans forward again, a sly smile on her face. "After doing everything except throw yourself naked at her feet, she still doesn't want you, does she?" She shakes her head in mock pity. "Poor Alec. You'll never understand, but Lee and I--we couldn't live without each other. It was our strength and our greatest weakness, but at least we truly loved. Not like you--with a cheating wife and your heart on your sleeve, still all alone, nothing more than empty space in a suit and tie without anyone who loves you and no one who would miss you. If your body were left on a beach somewhere, would anyone care? Would anyone even notice?"

"Are you threatening me, Claire?"

A slow smile curves her lips. "Just stating the obvious."

~~~~~

He raises an eyebrow at Miller's wide eyes and flushed cheeks but she refuses to say anything as they wend their way through security, sign out of the prison and get in to his car.

"That _shit_!" she exclaims as he pulls out of the parking lot and points the car towards Stonebridge.

"What? _Claire_?"

She furiously shakes her head, almost bouncing in her seat. "Not Claire! That stuff about being left on a beach and nobody would notice? That's what Beth said to Joe when we ran him out of Broadchurch!"  
~~~~~


	13. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, guys, we're getting to the end of this story. There should only be one (maybe two) chapters, an epilogue and an Author's Note to go. I get a little choked up when I think about it because I'm really going to miss working on this story when it's done. (Not to mention all the incredible feedback from everyone!!)

Hardy

Hardy’s CS arranges with the Police nationale to locate and question Joe and while they’re at it, to find and question Lee’s former lover, Sophie Merchant.  They also put in a formal request to review the records of the phone calls and online conversations that Ricky, Lee and Claire have made or received since their arrests.  While Hardy and Miller think Claire is the one who’s been in contact with Joe, it could just as easily be through the other two, given the trio’s twisted history.

The French police find Joe easily enough and Hardy and Miller sit behind his desk, watching the video of the interview with sharp eyes.  As Joe denies any contact with Claire Ripley, Hardy finds Joe’s wide-eyed nervousness sickeningly familiar.  It’s the same air of earnest innocence that had surrounded him even as he was confessing to the murder of an eleven-year-old boy.

Miller’s tense beside him, her face frozen in an expression of disgust that only gets worse as Joe asks about his sons, asks if he can see them, asks about her.  She shudders.

“He’s still thinking of ways to come back, to be part of our lives,” she mutters. “At least Tom’s almost old enough to make up his own mind and protect himself, but Fred...Fred’s still too young.”  She swallows with difficulty and Hardy sees she’s fighting the urge to retch.  “What if Joe meets Fred when he’s the same age as Danny was?  What if he crosses the same line with Fred?”

Hardy puts an arm around her.  She freezes, then relaxes and leans her head on his shoulder.

~~~~~

They think interviewing Sophie Merchant will simply tie up another loose end…until the police tells them she’s gone, and there’s no record of her leaving France.

~~~~~

Ellie

Ellie spends a restless night worrying about Joe, tossing and turning and trying not to wake Hardy, although he doesn’t seem to be sleeping any more soundly than she is.  In the warm light of morning, as she finishes her shower, she decides she’s not going to give Joe that much power over her.  She isn’t going to worry about him so long as he stays safely in France, and if he doesn’t, well, she’s more than capable of protecting her children if that’s what it takes.  She thinks about her little nest egg, ready to be used to run if necessary, and realizes she’s stronger than that now, stronger than him.  She always has been. 

She will not run from him.

Besides, this new aspect of her relationship with Hardy is going to be complicated enough without letting Joe taint their budding romance.

Not that they’re romantic, exactly, she thinks with rueful amusement as she finishes drying herself and pulls on her housecoat.  They’ve spent most of their waking hours inspecting crime scenes or snarling at each other about evidence or lack thereof rather than whispering sweet nothings in each other’s ears, although she admits Hardy is surprisingly good at it when he puts his mind to it. 

On the other hand, she feels as if everything that’s happened between them has been as inevitable as the ocean waves crashing into the beach of Broadchurch.  There’s something romantic about that, too, she supposes.

She pads into the kitchen to find him standing at the sink wearing only his pajama bottoms, yawning as he sets up the coffee maker.  He gives her an answering grunt from a disbelieving face in response to her cheerful ‘good morning’ and wide grin.  He manages to smile a little when she slides her arms around him then leans up to kiss him, smoothing her hands over that long back that had so enticed her the first time she saw it.

Fifteen minutes later, as she’s perched on the cupboard, her housecoat pooled beneath her for a cushion, she thinks he’s also rather surprisingly creative when he puts his mind to it. 

It’s her last coherent thought for a while.

~~~~~

She’s mildly annoyed about the marks on her neck but only because it’s far too warm for a high-necked shirt.

~~~~~

As they go to the station, Hardy diffidently, almost shyly, asks if she wants to go to Murray’s retirement bash with him.  She agrees with a wide, excited grin, which is immediately replaced with a puzzled frown when he says, “So, this isn’t a secret then?”

“Secret?  Why would it be a secret?”

He gives her a speaking look.  “I’m not exactly the catch of the year,” he growls.

“Well, no,” she says, “but then again, neither am I.  That still doesn’t explain why it would be secret.”

“So I can tell Daisy?”

“Of course, although she might figure it out all on her own when you’re not sleeping on the sofa bed anymore.”

“Ah.  Right.”  He slides a glance her way, then smiles a wide, open smile, his dimples on full display, and she can’t stop her answering grin.

~~~~~

Sal immediately zeroes in on the blue smudges on Ellie’s skin and with an awkward smile at all the blatantly watching coppers and a glare at Hardy’s wide-eyed, nervous face, the younger woman marches Ellie into the loo.

“Is it Hardy?” Sal almost squeals as soon as the door closes.

Ellie glances around a little guiltily before she nods.

Now Sal really does squeal.  Ellie winces at the noise and prays no one runs in to find out what’s going on.  She looks at Sal’s shining face and prays even harder that she’s not involved in Hardy’s stalking.

Sal lowers her voice to a whisper and says, “Is it a secret?  In which case, I have some foundation to cover up those love bites.”

Ellie flushes a deep, dark red, even as she says, “No, of course it’s not a secret.”

“Then why do you look so guilty?”

Ellie stops and blinks.  “Well...because...it’s...”  She trails off, frowning. “It’s new,” she finally says helplessly then pulls a face as her hand goes up to her neck.  “Which explains these.  The enthusiasm hasn’t worn off yet.”

Sal looks a little confused but gives what Ellie suspects is meant to be a wise nod.  She suddenly feels ancient and even less romantic than ever, then she remembers the morning and grins, blushing.

She’s quite happy with things the way they are.

~~~~~

Hardy

They go to the pub that night for his regular meeting with Missy.  Miller sits at what’s become his usual table while he goes to the bar and gives the bartender-with-the-sweet-smile their drink order.  While he’s waiting, he turns and watches Miller as she reads something on her phone with a disgusted scowl.  His face softens as he imagines the wrinkle in the middle of her forehead that he knows is there even though he can’t quite see it from this angle.

He notices Missy walk in and head to the table just as the bartender puts the glasses down behind him.

“Your order, mate,” she says.

He turns and gives her a distracted thanks.  “You may as well get Missy’s usual ready, too.”

Her mouth tightens but she nods and walks to the other end of the bar to make the drink.  Hardy turns his attention back towards Miller and Missy and freezes, suddenly feeling as if the world is getting closer while simultaneously rushing further away.  Missy is sitting in ‘his’ chair, and the way she and Miller are leaning across the table, speaking intently, combined with the distance and the angle...there’s a sudden crushing feeling of recognition and realization so strong he can’t tear his eyes away from them.

“Here you go,” the bartender says briskly behind him.

Hardy stands frozen for a long moment then turns towards her. 

“Thank you.  You know,” he says, his eyes wide and never wavering as he digs out his wallet, “I’ve been coming here a while now and it just occurred to me that I’ve never asked your name.”

She looks taken aback. “Why do you want to know?  Especially after all this time?”

He shrugs as he pulls bills from his wallet.  He sees her eyes flick to the picture of Marney and her baby before returning to him.  “You’ve finally learned my usual drink,” he says, “and I think I finally know who you are.”

He lifts an eyebrow in question.

Her blue eyes widen as they stare at each other.  She finally swallows, shrugs and says, “Sondra.”  She nods at the drinks on the bar.  “You going to pay for those now?”

“Oh, aye.  Could you give me a tray this time, though?”

“Not up to juggling three drinks tonight?”

“Not tonight, no.”

They stare at each other in silence, and some type of acknowledgement passes between them before she shrugs and pulls a tray out from beneath the bar.  She deliberately places each glass on it then presses her fingers flat on the stainless steel rim and pushes it towards him.  “All yours, mate.”

He glances at her fingers still resting on the tray then back at her.  “Aye, I suppose it is.”

~~~~~

“You took a long time,” Miller says with a smile.

“The bartender’s my stalker,” Hardy says flatly as he sets the tray down on the table and stops both Miller and Missy from reaching for their glasses.

“What?” Miller yelps.  “Well, bloody arrest her!”

“We have no evidence,” Hardy snaps as he pulls out his phone and dials SOCO.

Miller stands up, almost toppling her chair and glares.  “You’re mad!  You could have brought her in for questioning at least!”  She pushes past him and hurries to the bar but is almost immediately back.  “You idiot!  She’s already gone!”

Hardy finishes barking orders into the phone and shrugs as he ends the call.  “She won’t be gone far,” he says, “and she won’t be gone long.  She’s just raising the stakes again.”

“What the bloody hell are you talking about?” Miller shouts, throwing up her arms in frustration.

“She gave me her fingerprints,” he says gesturing at the tray on the table.  “She wants us to know who she is.  She’s daring us to find her.”

Miller’s eyes widen into dark pools of horror and she sinks back into her chair.  “For fuck’s sake, Hardy--who is this woman and what the hell does she want?”

“We’ll find out who she is once we get the prints analyzed, and that’s going to tell us what she wants.”

Miller just gapes and slowly shakes her head at him.

“Is this a bad time to tell you I think another sex worker has disappeared?” Missy says.

Both Hardy and Miller’s heads snap in her direction.

“What?” Hardy demands.

“A woman named Rolanda.”

“When and where did you see her last?” he growls.

“On Tom Avenue, of course, three nights ago.  I saw her going into the shelter.  I don’t blame her, it was a bloody miserable night.  I haven’t seen her since.”  She shrugs.  “Maybe she’s on a bender or maybe she’s gone into rehab, or maybe she’s at home sick, but you told me to tell you if I noticed anything unusual.”

“ _Fuck_ _!_ ”

~~~~~

Hardy sends some uniforms to look for Rolanda.  They quickly find her family, and they confirm they haven’t seen her and are beginning to get worried since this is the longest she’s ever gone without getting in touch with them in some way.

While the family files a missing persons report and the uniforms canvas the Avenue, Hardy and Miller go to the river and trudge through the thick vegetation in silence.  They check the sites where the South Coast Killer had left previous victims but find nothing.  Hardy scowls in frustration, standing in the clearing where they’d found Marney, and notices the sun glinting off the river to his right. 

He looks at it, the water placid, reflecting the shoreline like a mirror.  It’s beautiful but he can still taste that other river, still feel it, still see what it had done to Pippa over the three days she’d been in it.

He shudders and turns away.

~~~~~

He dreams of Pippa and Marney and the water and wakes, gasping, rising up like he’s again breaking the surface of that damned river, with a brackish taste in his mouth, burning lungs and aching arms.

“Hardy?” Miller asks sleepily.

He’s panting, drenched in sweat as he desperately tries to draw in air and can’t immediately answer.

She sits up and puts a hand on his shoulder and he flinches.  He’s not used to the feel of another person’s touch in the immediate aftermath of his dreams.  Tess had already been gone in all but name when they began and he’s been alone with them ever since.

“Hardy?” Miller asks again, leaning closer, her hand rubbing soothing circles against his back, and the sensation is so overwhelming he has to close his eyes against the tears.

“Go to sleep, Miller,” he chokes out.

“I most certainly will not,” she says sternly, and wraps her arms around him.

That breaks him, and he bows his head, his face twisting with sobs, his shoulders shaking, while Miller simply tightens her hold on him, solid and warm and real and _there_ , offering him silent comfort as she urges him to lie down with her, his head on her breast as he clings to her and mourns for Pippa and Marney and Danny and all the others he’s been unable to save over the years.

~~~~~

Ellie

Ellie hugs him close, waiting for his sobs to ease.  As he slowly relaxes, she strokes one hand soothingly up and down his lean back until he finally sighs, lifts his head and gives her an embarrassed look through tear-spiked lashes.

She gives him an encouraging smile.

“Better, yah?”

He nods, looking away as he sits up.  She follows, once again wrapping her arms around him.

“Where are you going?”

“The loo,” he mutters.

She nods.  She’s certainly shed enough tears over the last two years to know his eyes must feel like all the grit of the Sahara is in them, but she can’t quite bring herself to let him go just yet.

“I’ll make us some tea,” she says.

“Don’t fuss,” he says tiredly, his mouth downturned, his head bowed, but he doesn’t pull away.

She leans her chin on his shoulder.  “Just this once, let me fuss.  All right?”

He looks at from the corner of his eye and sighs.

A few minutes later, they’re back in bed, side by side and leaning against the headboard, sipping tea from steaming cups.

“I don’t like doing that,” Hardy says suddenly.

“Nobody does,” Ellie says, “but sometimes it’s better to let things out.”

“I’m going to keep having these...these...”

“Moments of pure human emotion?  I would bloody well hope so!”

“I’m trying to be serious here, Miller.”

“So am I!  For God’s sake, you never have to apologize to me for a few tears, Hardy.  Have you met me?”

He gives her a ghost of a smile.  “I’m likely going to keep having these dreams, especially while under stress.  They don’t...they’re not comfortable to live with.”

She gives him an exasperated look.  “Would you please stop being such a knob?”

“I don’t like being fussed over,” he mutters.

“I promise to keep my fussing constrained to an occasional shoulder to cry on.”

He looks at her from shadowed amber eyes.  “That will do,” he says then leans over and kisses her.

~~~~~

To no one’s surprise, the bartender’s prints come back the next day as belonging to Sophie Merchant, a computer programmer whose last known address is in France.  There’s no record of her anywhere in England, and the flat she’d rented in France had been let to other people months before.

No one knows where she is, and Ellie fights the urge to beat the shit out of something, especially when Hardy’s CS refuses to issue a warrant for Sophie’s arrest.  She does understand--they have no evidence, after all, and Sophie’s previous relationship with Lee doesn’t prove she’s Hardy’s stalker--but it doesn’t make her any less angry.  All they can do is issue an alert letting other police territories know Sophie Merchant and her various aliases is wanted for questioning in an active investigation.

On the other hand, Ellie’s not sure it matters because every copper’s instinct she has tells her Sophie hasn’t gone far.  Whatever or whoever it is that’s got her fixated on Hardy isn’t going to go away and since she deliberately allowed them to identify her, Ellie knows that means Sophie plans on making a dramatic, likely final, move against him.

The uncertainty around what that move may be, and where and when it may occur, gives Ellie cold sweats and the wish she had something--anything--she could use to release her frustrations and fear.

She stomps in to Hardy’s office where he looks up from scowling ferociously at the computer, glasses perched on his nose, to scowl ferociously at her.

_Perfect._

~~~~~

It isn’t much of a row, since they’re angry at the situation rather than each other, but it makes her feel a little better. She’d much rather drag him into a storage room and work out her frustrations in a different way, but this will have to do.  Hardy’s as angry as she is, although for him it’s because of the South Coast Killer rather than his stalker once again slipping from his grasp.

They haven’t found any sign of Rolanda, and the six men they had under surveillance either hadn’t been in Stonebridge or hadn’t been working at the shelter the night she disappeared.

“Forget Sophie,” Hardy finally growls, “she’s not done yet, and we’ll catch her when she re-surfaces.  But this bastard, _this_ bastard--” he paces the office, one hand running through his hair, the other on his hip, and Ellie’s seriously reconsidering the storage room idea when he loudly barks, “Sal!  Webster!”

Ellie grins as she hears the two scrambling but quickly sobers as they careen through his door.

“Yes, sir?” Sal says, wide-eyed and breathless.  Webster is a little less intimidated, a scowl on his handsome face.

“I want the list of all the employees and volunteers working in the shelters,” Hardy snarls, “along with the records of their interviews.  If this arsehole isn’t one of the six we identified as possible suspects, then he’s somebody else in those shelters.  We are going to find him, whatever it takes.  And once we do, I will want to know how we managed to overlook him.”

Sal nods rapidly, shooting a quick glance at Webster then giving him a quick elbow to the ribs.

“Yes, sir,” he says reluctantly.

Hardy stares, eyes narrowed, then waves a hand in dismissal.  They quickly leave, but Ellie raises an eyebrow at Webster’s hand hovering near the small of Sal’s back as she precedes him through the door.  She makes a note that perhaps wee Sal has secrets of her own to share.

She glances at Hardy, who’s shaking his head, lips pressed into a tight frown.  “I’m not sure he’s right for her,” he mutters and Ellie’s jaw drops.

“You noticed that?” she almost squeaks in her disbelief.

He rolls his eyes.  “I _am_ a bloody detective,” he growls.  “I’m not sure why people are always so surprised when I notice things.”

Ellie’s still laughing as she returns to her desk.

~~~~~

They’re working late, combing through interview tapes and transcripts, wee Sal and Webster catching a short nap at the table beside them, when one of the station’s cleaners bustles in.

Hardy glances at her and she gives him a cheerful grin and greeting as she begins emptying trash bins.  He frowns a little, then says, “You don’t usually work this shift, do you?”

She shakes her head.  “Na, pulling a double shift,” she says.  “One of the girls didn’t show up.”

“Oh?  Had a fight with the boss, did she?” Ellie asks.

“Don’t think so.  She’s always reliable, never late, always called, so when she didn’t show, the boss got worried and went to her address.” She lowers her voice and widens her eyes. “Only the address doesn’t exist!  Her cell phone’s turned off and no one knows what’s happened to her.  The boss just finished filing a missing persons report.  She’s really shook up and worried.”  The woman shakes her head as she looks at the pictures that surround them.  “Hope she hasn’t ended up like one of these.”

“Why would you think she might?” Ellie asks.

The woman shrugs as she replaces the last trash bin.  “Well, she’s obviously hiding from somebody, if she’s giving out fake addresses.  Hope whoever it is didn’t find her.  Sondra’s a nice girl, she’s got a sweet smile.  Nervous, though, and easily scared.  She got spooked by one of the coppers once and said she never could relax around him.”

Ellie’s eyes widen.  “Which copper, did she say?”

“Na, only that he scared the shit out of her and she made a point of avoiding him.”

“What’s her name?  Just in case we come across her.”

“Sondra Moran.  I hope she’s all right.  Such a nice girl, and hard-working, always willing to lend a hand and take extra shifts.”

~~~~~

The boss of the cleaning staff sends them Sondra’s picture ID badge that was left hanging in her locker.  Ellie and Hardy recognize her immediately:  the bartender with the sweet smile, Sophie Merchant.

~~~~~

Hardy

Miller reluctantly leaves for Broadchurch late the next morning.  Hardy has to practically push her into the car, telling her she’s already been gone for a week, and the boys need her home.   He’s regretting it before her car is even out of sight.  He makes his way to the station and tries not to think that Sophie might be watching him even now, and creeping closer.

To take his mind off things, he calls Daisy.  He listens to her talk about the play rehearsals and what she’s hoping to do once summer holidays start in two weeks, about Tom’s latest football game and Fred’s latest escapade, then she says, “Don’t forget, Dad, the play’s on the 17th, then Beth and Paul are launching Danny’s charity the next day.  You promised to be here.”

“I promised to try,” he hastens to clarify.

“Which means you’re going to be here, right?  I know I’m not actually in the play, but I’m quite proud of all the carpentry work I’ve done for it.  Besides...” she hesitates.

“What?” he asks, suddenly concerned.

“I’ve asked Mum to come to it, too.”

“Oh, darlin’, I’m glad.”

“Well, I’m not sure I’m ready to see her, so I want you there in case I need a buffer.”

He sighs.  “I’ll do my best.”

“Good.”

“I need to talk to you, too, Daisy.”

“What about?” she asks, suddenly nervous.

“Miller.  And me.”

“Oh, that!  Come on, Dad, you must know I approve!  I think Ellie’s brilliant.”

He frowns.  “Just what do you think you’re approving?” he asks suspiciously.

“You and Ellie, you know, dating.  Tom told me.”

“How the bloody hell would he know?”

“Ellie had a chat with him last weekend, wanted to know if he was all right with her snogging you.”

He puts a hand to his forehead.  “For God’s sake,” he mutters.

“It’s not like it’s a surprise, Dad.”

“What?”

“Oh, come on, we’re already all living together!  That, and you’re always looking at her like you can’t believe your eyes.  Well, except when you’re angry with her, of course.  I mean, you still look at her like you can’t believe your eyes but it’s for different reasons.  Either way, it’s obvious.  Why do you think I never asked you anything about it all week?”

He flushes a dark red and is glad she can’t see him.  “It’s not _that_ obvious,” he mutters.

Daisy laughs for a good five minutes and all Hardy can do is tilt his head back in long-suffering silence until she’s finished.

“I take it you’re all right with this then?” he says drily.

“Oh, aye,” she says in a fair imitation of his accent.  “Not sure about having Tom and Fred for brothers, but I suppose we’ll manage.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Hardy warns sharply, “this might all fall apart by next weekend.”

Daisy just begins giggling again.

~~~~~

Several hours later, Hardy glances up as Sal walks in to his office carrying a file box.

“These came for you,” she says cheerfully.  “Records of communications with and visitors to Ricky Gillespie, Lee Ashworth and Claire Ripley.”

He blinks owlishly behind his glasses then nods.  “Aye, I’ve been expecting those.”

“Do you need help going through them?”

“No, but if they’re not digitized, I’ll need your help to do that so we can get them off to Miller.”

Sal puts the box on the sofa and begins rifling through the bagged material inside.  “Mostly memory sticks but there’s some paper in here.  I’ll get them scanned right away if it’s not done already.”  She glances at Hardy.  “Ellie in Broadchurch this week, then?”

Hardy nods, and feels a stab of loneliness at the thought.

“Are you going to move to Broadchurch, sir?  Or is Ellie going to move here?”  He stares and she flushes.  “I’m not prying, really!  It’s just I like working with you, and I’d be sorry to see you go.”

He sits back in his chair with a self-deprecating grimace.  “You _like_ working with me?  Are you daft?”

Sal laughs.  “No, sir.  You’re difficult and unreasonable and volatile, and a grumpier bastard I have yet to meet.  But you’re dedicated and brilliant and you’ve challenged me and given me more opportunities than any other DI I’ve ever worked with.  Plus you believe in me.”  She hesitates, then says, “Have you ever considered taking the South Coast Killer case away from me?”

“Of course,” he says without hesitation, “but you’re doing a good job, have been right from the start, so there’s been no need.”

She grimaces.  “Did I mention the brutal honesty?” she says then smiles almost bashfully.  “I appreciate it, sir.  All of it.”

“Does Webster still resent it?”  He nods in the vague direction of Webster’s desk.  “I see you’ve grown closer lately.”

She blushes furiously.  “We’ve come to an understanding,” she says primly.

“Is that what you youngsters are calling it these days?”

She rolls her eyes.  “And what do you and Ellie call it?”

His lips twitch towards a smile.  “Fine,” he growls, “but if he starts acting like an arsehole, you tell me.  I’ll have words.”

She beams.  “Don’t you worry, sir, I’ll take care of it if he starts acting like an arsehole.  Honestly, there won’t be much left of him for you to have words with by the time I’m done with him.”

Now he does smile, broad and genuine.  “Glad to hear it.”

She picks up the box.  “I’ll get these scanned.  Oh, and the last of the transcripts and recordings from all the shelter interviews just arrived.  We’re going through them now.”

He nods and watches with almost paternal pride as she bustles out of the office.

~~~~~

He sends the prison data files to Murray, who calls him the next day.

“Several of the video calls came from the same IP address,” he booms.  “I’ve just finished sending the information to your SOCO and Miller.”

“Think they came from her flat?”

“Only one way to find out.”

“Thanks, Murray, I--”

“Yah, yah, you owe me one.  Come to the party on Saturday.  Bring Miller.”

“And put up with your flirting all night?”

“Don’t fuss, I’ll make sure to flirt with her, too.”

“Oi,” Hardy sighs.

~~~~~

His uniforms find Sophie’s flat that afternoon, rented in the name of Kay Cooper, and a SOCO technician is waiting for him when he arrives.  There’s nothing out of the ordinary:  a kitchen/living room with a tiny bathroom and an only slightly larger bedroom at one end of it.

“This is what we wanted you to see before we dismantled it,” the tech says and opens the closet located to the left of the front door.

It’s slightly deeper and longer than the usual front closet, with a small shelf running along the back.  On the shelf are stacks of photographs and memory sticks and Hardy’s skin begins to crawl as the tech begins to show him, one by one, what’s in one of the stacks.  Each one is a picture of him:  walking down the street, in the pub, sitting in his office, stretched out on the sofa in his flat.

The technician picks up another stack but Hardy shakes his head and turns away.

“Bag and tag everything,” he says, and it sounds as if his voice is coming from a great distance.  “I’ll take a look once it’s been processed.”

He’s pleased.  He almost sounds professional.

~~~~~

During their nightly phone call he explains to Miller what was found, and says, “We’ve issued a warrant for her arrest, but who knows?  Maybe she’s back in France by now.”

“You know she’s not in France!” she says angrily.

“I don’t really care where she is, so long as she stays gone,” he growls.

~~~~~

He reviews the transcripts of the phone calls between Claire Ripley and Joe Miller and isn’t at all surprised that Joe had lied about knowing Claire.  He also reviews transcripts of the phone and video calls, chats and e-mails between Claire and Sophie Merchant aka Sondra Moran aka Karla Clarke aka Kay Cooper.  Even without watching and listening to them, he sees the manipulation in Claire’s words, slyly convincing both Joe and Sophie that Hardy abused and forced her into a false confession, and there’s no one willing to bring him to justice for what he’d done.  He’d believe her himself if he didn’t know better.

He puts down the last transcript and tosses his glasses on top of it.  He leans back in his chair, rubs his hands over his weary face, and curses the day he ever thought Claire Ripley needed his help.

~~~~~

He calls Maggie in the morning.  She listens to him with minimal questions before saying, “You’ve become quite the embarrassment of riches for me.”

She’s teasing, but there’s no hiding the concern in her voice.

“Not for much longer, if things go as I hope,” Hardy says.  “I want to make it as uncomfortable as possible for Sophie or Sondra or whatever bloody name she’s using at the moment.  I want her on the run.”

“I’ll do what I can.  Karen White’s still pissed you came to me the last time.  I’ll work that lingering resentment to get the story the widest possible circulation.”

He smiles.  “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

~~~~~

Maggie works her connections and the story along with Sophie’s ID picture from the station’s cleaning job is front page news the next day.  Wee Sal tells him the tip line is ringing off the hook with reported sightings of the woman, and he hopes Sophie’s feeling the pressure, unable to find a place to rest for long.  He hopes it makes her panic.

As he picks up the next interview transcript for the South Coast Killer case, he thinks that as much as he hates reporters and the media, they do sometimes come in handy.

~~~~~

Miller returns to Stonebridge on Thursday night, and she tells him they’re improving since they make it to the sofa this time.  Once they’re settled in bed for the night, though, she proceeds to give him royal hell for putting the story in the papers again.  He sighs and lets her rage before he wraps around her and tells her everything’s going to be all right.

They spend the next day going through more of the South Coast Killer interview transcripts before driving to London.  They spend Saturday strolling round the city then return to their hotel to get ready for Murray’s retirement send-off.

Hardy stretches out on the bed going over the latest information his DSs sent him and glances up as the bathroom door finally opens and Miller emerges.  He blinks at how beautiful she looks, her curly hair styled so it’s softly framing her face, her dress and strappy heels showing off a narrow waist and remarkably pretty legs. 

He lets out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding and growls, “Murray’s going to be unbearable.”

Miller gives him a questioning smile as she puts earrings in her ears.

He gets off the bed and walks to her, resting his hands on her hips.  “He won’t let you leave his side and he’ll be flirting outrageously the entire time.”

Her smile widens.  “Bless,” she says and gives him a lingering kiss, then leans back, wiping lipstick from his mouth.  “I’m going to enjoy it for all it’s worth.  You’re not exactly the flirting type.”

“True,” he says ruefully.

~~~~~

The pub’s already packed when they walk in but Murray notices them immediately.

“Laddie!” he bellows across the babble of voices, “and Miller!  Get over here and bring your wallet!”

Hardy shakes his head as he takes Miller’s hand and leads the way through the crush.  Murray immediately takes in their clasped hands and grins, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“I see I missed my chance with you, Miller,” he says.

“I’ll always hold a special part of my heart for you, Murray,” she says with a wide grin, leaning up and giving him a peck on the cheek.

“Aye, as you should.”  Murray slings his arms around both of them and turns them towards the bar.  “Next round’s on you, Hardy.”

Hardy rolls his eyes but nods at the bartender who begins pouring drinks.  Murray grabs his and Miller’s and they shift out of the way as the crowd of well-wishers begin to converge on the bar.

“I’m surprised you made it, Alec,” Tess says from behind him.

Hardy turns and shrugs.  “It’s Murray.  He’d never speak to me again if I missed this.”

“You came with Ellie?”

Hardy’s eyes narrow as he nods, because if he didn’t know better, he’d think she sounded jealous.

Her perpetual smugness is very much in evidence as she eyes him thoughtfully and sips her drink.  “I’ve been thinking about you the last few weeks,” she says.  “Daisy told me you convinced her to talk to me again.”

He takes his own drink with a nod of thanks at the bartender, and they move out of the way of the crowd.  He sees Miller talking and laughing with Murray and he smiles at her bright, happy face as the older man charms her.  He reluctantly returns his attention to Tess.

“You and Daisy have always had a special bond,” he says with a shrug, “and a girl needs her mother.”

“What about you, Alec?  What do you need?”

He raises an eyebrow.  “I have everything I need.”

“Really.”

He glances again at Miller then back at Tess.  “Really.”

Tess presses her lips together, her eyes narrowed.  “Should I say congratulations?”

Hardy rolls his eyes.  “We didn’t get engaged, Tess.”

“But you are together.”

“Yes.”

“Then I suppose there’s no point telling you I’ve been thinking about us lately, especially after that latest story in the paper.  I’ve been worried about you, missing the days when we were a family.”

He chokes a little on his drink.  “ _Now?_   You’re thinking about that _now_?”

Her smug smile returns.  “We could go somewhere and talk about it,” she says almost seductively.

“Bloody hell, no!” he blurts so loudly heads turn in their direction.

She flushes.  “For God’s sake, keep your voice down!” she hisses.

“Well, stop being so bloody daft!”  He makes no effort to lower his voice.

Finally, her smug smirk is gone.  “I thought you might want to talk about it.  For Daisy’s sake.”

“Oi, don’t try to manipulate me with Daisy!  She’s happy about Miller, she loves Broadchurch, and if you want her to forgive you so bloody bad, maybe you should try apologizing to her!”  He’s aware Murray and Miller have come up behind him.  “You might even try apologizing to me!”

Miller slides in beside him, slipping an arm around his waist.  “Everything all right here?” she asks.

Hardy gives her an exasperated look.  “Oh, aye,” he says sarcastically.  “Tess and I were just discussing the weather.”

“Well,” Miller says with a conciliatory smile that turns brittle when she turns her eyes on Tess, “I think Tess and I should go talk about the weather, too.”

“What?” Hardy sputters, but it’s too late.  Miller’s already walking away with Tess while Murray laughs heartily beside him.

~~~~~

Hardy’s chatting with a couple of former colleagues from Glasgow, wondering what Miller and Tess could possibly be talking about for so long, when his phone rings.  He sees wee Sal’s name and answers.

“What?” he almost bellows against the noise of the chattering coppers in the background as he winds his way to the door.

There’s a sudden burst of laughter from somewhere behind him, and Sal cautiously says, “Sir...are you at a _party_?”

“Aye, in London,” he says as he leaves the stifling air of the pub and steps out into the slightly cooler temperatures of a London street in June.  There’s a long silence on the other end of the phone.

“Sal?” he snaps.

“Sorry, sir, just trying to imagine you at a party.”

He rolls his eyes.  “Bring me up to speed.  Quickly.”

“A body of a young woman was found by a couple looking for a, erm, ‘picnic spot’, about two miles downstream from where Marney was found.  The body matches the description of Rolanda Cunningham, the street prostitute reported missing nine days ago.  SOCO’s already out there and I’m about to head over now with Webster.”

“Awright,” he growls.  “We’ll be back in Stonebridge tomorrow afternoon and I’ll expect a full briefing then.”

“Yes, sir.”

He ends the call and goes back inside.  He sees Miller’s finally returned and is now standing with Murray and several of Murray’s London colleagues.  She’s listening intently, chatting and laughing.  She looks so happy, he decides he’ll tell her after the party’s over.  There’s nothing they can do tonight, anyway.

~~~~~

She’s slightly tipsy by the time they leave and he’s tempted to wait until morning, because a squiffy Miller is rather intriguing and he’d like time to enjoy the experience.  He heaves a silent sigh because he knows how she’ll react if he waits, and tells her on the way to the hotel.

She’s silent for a long time, her face stark in the harsh street lights.  She says, finally, “Are we going to get him?”

“Oh, aye,” he says firmly.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because you and I are on the case, Miller, and together we’re unbeatable.”

~~~~~

Ellie

As always, there’s no physical evidence, so Hardy narrows the focus to the men who were working at the Saint Nicholas Shelter of Hope on Tom Avenue the night Rolanda was last seen alive.

Wee Sal gives him a list of ten men, and he and Ellie pore over their previous interviews while the DSs bring them in to be re-interviewed.

“Sal,” Ellie calls, a frown creasing her forehead, “where’s the transcript for the first interview with Shawn Buchanan?”

Sal searches through the index on her computer.  “I don’t have a record of any interview with Shawn Buchanan,” she says, puzzled.  “Is he a staff member or a regular volunteer at the shelter?”

“Yes,” Ellie says, showing the file notes to Hardy, who scowls.

“Well, it must be somewhere,” he says.  “According to the notes, he’s been in every location a woman’s gone missing, but he wasn’t one of the men we had under surveillance.  Why did we eliminate him as a suspect?”

Sal shakes her head as she moves to the files on a separate table in their task force room.  “I don’t know,” she mutters, beginning to rifle through them, “I’ve never heard the name before.”

Soon everyone in the room is digging through paper and electronic files until they stand in frustrated silence, warily watching Hardy.

He’s breathing heavily, hands clenched into shaking fists at his sides.

“For God’s sake,” he finally explodes, “find out who was supposed to interview this man!  In the meantime, get him in here so we can do it now!”

~~~~~

Shawn Buchanan runs the Stonebridge shelter’s kitchen and sometimes helps serve food.  He’s reed-thin and so unremarkable he practically disappears into the chair he’s sitting in.  Ellie thinks it’s almost as if you have to consciously look for him in order to see him. 

The interview is innocuous enough:  who he is, where he lives, how long he’s worked for the Saint Nicholas Shelter of Hope organization.  He claims he’s never seen the women before, but then he doesn’t remember everyone he’s ever served or seen in the shelters.  He travels to each new site to help set up the kitchens and in the last couple of years his responsibilities have expanded to training staff and regularly inspecting each site’s kitchen.  He only has direct contact with the people who use the shelter if he’s serving or clearing up.  While he was working the night they believe Rolanda disappeared, he’d been in the kitchen all night and didn’t speak to anyone other than his fellow cook and the servers.

They collect a DNA sample and Ellie feels a chill run down her back as she watches him leave the interview room.

“He’s lying,” she says flatly. 

Hardy nods and growls, “There’ll be hell to pay when I find out who failed to interview that one.”

~~~~~

They work late the next couple of nights, only going back to Hardy’s flat to tumble into bed and sleep for an hour or two, tangled together like puppies, before waking and returning to the station to start working again.

They take a break for Hardy’s regular meeting with Missy on Wednesday night. 

“Everyone on the street is present or accounted for,” she says immediately upon sitting down.  “I mean, there aren’t any unexplained or unexpected disappearances.”

“Good,” Hardy says and slides a small picture across the table towards her.  “This is Shawn Buchanan.  He works in the kitchen at the shelter.  If you happen to see him talking to any of the women on the street, let me know, all right?”

Her eyes narrow.  “Is he your prime suspect?”

Ellie shakes her head.  “We just haven’t been able to eliminate him yet.  He says he only ever sees people if he’s serving food, but we can’t confirm that.”

“Or find evidence to the contrary, is that it?”

“Yes.”

She picks up the picture and looks at it carefully.  “He doesn’t exactly catch the eye, does he?”

Hardy shrugs and leans forward.  “Don’t engage him directly or do anything to attract his attention.  If you see him talking to any of the women, call me immediately.  If you can’t get me,” he scratches a number in his angular writing onto a napkin, “call Detective Sergeant Sal Edwards.”  He hands her the napkin, his dark eyes wide in an intense stare.  “Remember:  don’t do anything to attract attention.”

She rolls her eyes as she takes the napkin and tucks it away.  “You tell me that every week.  Trust me, Scotty, I get it!”

“See that you do.”

~~~~~

Missy leaves first, and Ellie and Hardy finish their drinks, savoring the first real down-time they’ve had since they returned to Stonebridge.

They stand up from the table and leave the pub, stepping into a street that’s unusually crowded.

“Oh, right, there’s some kind of concert going on in town,” Ellie says as they dodge oncoming pedestrians.  Not successfully, it turns out, as she bumps into a tall young man and apologizes with an embarrassed smile.  She hears an ‘oof’ from Hardy behind her and she turns round with a grin to joke about their shared clumsiness.  Her grin freezes when she realizes he’s doubled-over, gasping, his hand pressed against his right side, red droplets already pooling on to the pavement.

“ _Hardy!_ ” she yelps and rushes to his side.

“Black hood,” he groans, and now Ellie sees a slight figure moving hastily through the crowd away from them, a black hood covering its head.

“Sophie Merchant!” she yells.  People turn to look and Ellie sees realization beginning to dawn on faces as Sophie glances over her shoulder.  Their eyes meet for a long moment before Sophie turns and tries to run, pushing against the crowd.

“Stop her!” she screams as she lowers Hardy to the pavement.

“It’s just a scratch, Miller,” he gasps as a couple of people fall to their knees beside them, “go after her.”

“Hardy--”

“Don’t argue!  _Go_!”

One of the people beside Hardy gives her a distracted smile.  “It’s all right,” she says, “I’m a nurse.”

Ellie stands and sees Sophie’s been caught by the arm by the same young man Ellie had bumped into, but she’s struggling hard against him and his grip is slipping fast as Ellie starts running towards them.

Sophie breaks free just as Ellie gets close, and Ellie puts on a burst of speed, determined not to let her get away.  There must be something in her face because people take one look and hastily jump out of the way.  Sophie isn’t quite so lucky, and Ellie barrels into her, swinging her round and pushing her into the wall of the nearest building.

She pulls back the woman’s hoodie and sees with vicious satisfaction that Sophie’s wincing in pain.  She resists the urge to shake the woman.

“You’re nicked,” she growls instead, and begins to give Sophie a recital of her rights even as she pulls her away from the wall and drags her back the way they’d come.  She pushes through the crowd that’s now surrounding Hardy and goes weak with relief to see he’s conscious, his stomach laid bare as the nurse examines the wound.

Hardy looks at her, his mouth pressed tight against the pain of what she now sees is a long, narrow slash running from his navel to his hip and crossing through his previous scar.  It was obviously made by a knife and is still bleeding profusely.

“Is she under caution?” he grates through clenched teeth, hissing as the nurse presses someone’s folded t-shirt against the wound.

“Yes.”

“Good.  Take her to the station,” he says and catches his breath in a pained sob, then says rapidly, “I’m going to need stitches but I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“For God’s sake--”

He tries to give her a smile.  “I’m fine, Miller.  Really.  Just a scratch.”

Ellie glares then looks at the woman administering first aid.  “Is he telling me the truth?”

“Well, it’s a bit more than a scratch,” the woman says, “but it doesn’t look too deep.”  She gives Ellie a reassuring smile.  “An ambulance and the police are already on the way, although he did initially suggest he should walk.”

“Oh, of course he should,” Ellie says sarcastically.  She shakes her head and gives him a hard glare.  “We’re staying,” she says, almost absently pulling Sophie back as she tries to break away.  She points a warning finger at the other woman and gives her a stern look.  “Don’t push me,” she warns, then turns back to Hardy.  “I’ll send her back with one of the uniforms when they get here.”

“Miller--”

“I am _not_ leaving you to deal with this alone.  That is not how this works!”

 “I knew you’d fuss,” he mutters.

“Knob.”

He chuckles then groans.  “And that’s why I love you, Miller,” he says.

She hears the sirens in the distance as she blinks back a sudden, hot rush of tears and says, “Well, I have no bloody idea why I love you, but I do.”

His eyes are soft even as his mouth twists against the pain.  “I’ll take it,” he says.

~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone asks: yes, I wrote a whole conversation between Ellie/Tess at Murray's party. Sadly, it brought the story to a screeching halt AND served no other purpose than a chance for me to beat up on Tess, so it ended up on the cutting room floor.
> 
> I really have sympathy for Chibnall and all those bonus scenes they released during series 2...


	14. Chapter Twelve and Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA Warnings: Non-graphic depictions of violence, implied torture, blood.

Hardy

Hardy opens bleary eyes and Miller’s annoyed face swims into focus.

“We need to stop meeting like this,” he mumbles, eyes fluttering closed.  He’s floating in a lovely cocoon of cotton, aware of the pain in his stomach but it’s very far away.

“I couldn’t agree more,” she says drily.  “Keep doing this to us, and we may put you in here ourselves next time.”

He grimaces.  “Why am I so groggy?”

“The wound wasn’t deep enough to get to the vital organs, but the doctors still put in a couple layers of stitches.  They gave you some painkillers and local anaesthetic, and you were out like a light.  Gave them a right good scare, too.”

“Well, they’ve certainly scared me often enough,” he mumbles then yawns and gives her a sleepy smile.  “She safely in the nick?”

“Yes.  I’ll question her in the morning.”

“You mean _we’ll_ question her in the morning.”

Miller sighs.  “Any hope of convincing you otherwise?”

“None,” he says then yawns again.  “Take me home?”

“In the morning, Hardy,” Miller says firmly.  “You’re barely staying awake right now, and while I have more than enough help to get you into your flat, the doctors want to monitor you overnight.”

“What do the doctors know?” he grumbles then frowns as he sluggishly realizes what she’s said.  “What help?”

Miller steps aside and he sees a red-eyed Daisy standing beside a relieved-looking Tom.

“What—?”

Daisy moves to the bed and lowers herself to the chair beside it.  “I told you you needed somebody to watch out for you,” she says and bursts into tears.

* * * * *

He comforts her as best he can, one arm wrapped around her as she rests her head on his shoulder and sobs.  He makes soothing noises, calls her darlin’, and promises to be around to make her life miserable for the next fifty years.

She gives a soggy giggle, lifts her head and kisses him on the cheek.

“I love you, Dad,” she says.

He grimaces.  “Now who’s being soppy?”

She rolls her eyes and smiles.  “I’ll stay with you tonight.”

He looks from her to Miller to Tom with soulful dark eyes.  “Take me home,” he sighs.

* * * * *

He gets his way, of course, and hobbles into his flat an hour later.  He’s almost regretting his bull-headedness, because it takes everything he’s got to make it to the bedroom.

He’s asleep before the others even leave the room.

* * * * *

He’s sore and growly the next day but he goes to the station with Miller, where his team stares in disbelief, and his CS, Jake, gives him a look that says he now knows Hardy is a raving lunatic.

Miller pauses in the middle of the room and says, loudly, “We’re interviewing Sophie Merchant, and then I’m dragging him to Broadchurch and he’s going to rest and relax even if I have to bloody well knock him over the head to do it, awright?”

There’s a moment of stunned silence before his team and Jake burst into applause.  Hardy glares and shakes his head but doesn’t have the strength to argue.

* * * * *

Sophie doesn’t quite look at them as she sits at the table.  Gone is her direct gaze and sweet smile, and she suddenly looks very young and vulnerable.  Hardy feels unexpected sympathy for the woman.  He knows Claire’s ability to spin a convincing tale, and he suspects that Sophie didn’t have a chance once Claire got her in her sights.

They quickly run through the preliminaries:  the date and time, who’s at the table, and they ask Sophie for her name, where she was born, where she lived, and her occupation.  She answers readily enough and admits to her aliases as Miller lists them off.

Silence descends and Hardy watches her without moving until she finally looks at him and seems to get caught by his eyes, because she doesn’t look away.

He asks the only question he has:  “Why?”

“Because you deserved it.”

“Really?  What did I do to deserve it?”

“You framed an innocent man.  You kidnapped and raped a woman and forced her into confessing to crimes she didn’t commit.  You’re having an affair with a known prostitute.  God knows what else you’re doing that I don’t know about!”

“I think there’s very little I’ve been doing for the last few months that you don’t know about,” Hardy says, surprisingly gentle.  He’s aware of Miller turning her head to look at him, puzzled.  “None of what you’ve just said is true, and you know it.”

Sophie blinks rapidly.  “They are true.  They have to be.”

“Why?  Because otherwise everything you’ve done will have been for nothing?” Miller says.

Sophie doesn’t look away from Hardy.

“You know they’re not true,” Hardy says. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have just scratched me last night.  You could have killed me.  Why didn’t you?”

She crosses her arms and shrugs, her eyes flickering away then back to him.

“It’s because you’re not a killer,” he says, and his voice is honey-smooth, soothing and relaxing.  “Thank you, by the way.”

She gives him a startled frown.

“You still had the knife when Miller caught you.  You could have hurt that young man who tried to stop you.  You could have hurt anyone who was in your way.  You could have hurt Miller,” his voice cracks a little on her name before he continues.  “You could have done a lot of damage last night, Sophie, but you didn’t.  That’s why I’m thanking you.  You’re not a killer, but I think somebody really wanted you to be.  So, I’ll ask again:  why do you think I deserved to be humiliated and threatened and attacked?”

She swallows, then says, very quietly, “You took him away from me.”

“Lee Ashworth?”

“Yes.  No one had ever loved me like that before, especially not somebody like him.  I didn’t realize just how empty I’d been, how empty my life was, just echoing nothingness, until I met him and he filled everything up with laughter and light and love.  He only came back to England for a divorce, but you’d forced Claire into hiding just so you could hound him, force him to confess to a crime he didn’t commit, just like you forced Claire to confess, and now he won’t talk to me or let me help prove his innocence.”

“He didn’t come to England for a divorce,” Miller says.

Sophie frowns and finally turns to look at her.  “Yes, he did.  Claire even said so when I asked.”

“No, Sophie,” Miller says gently, “he didn’t.  He wanted Claire back, and they _were_ together for a bit.  They were even looking at houses in Broadchurch before they finally confessed.”

“Confessed!  To what?  They didn’t do anything!”

“Claire didn’t do anything, Lee didn’t do anything...why do you think they’re in prison now?”

Sophie’s face twists and she points an accusing finger at Hardy.  “Because this one fabricated evidence!  Forced confessions!  Just like he’d done before!  I was almost convinced he wasn’t so bad, but then he started flaunting his relationship with that—that—a prostitute, for God’s sake!”  She glares at Hardy.  “Is she even willing?  Or did you rape her, like you raped Claire?”  She turns back to Miller. “If you’re not careful, he’s going to turn on you, too, just like they said!  Everything I did, I did to protect you!”

“Really,” Miller says flatly.  “You were so concerned about my safety, you decided to publicly humiliate him instead of pulling me aside and warning me.  You decided to threaten him and then cut him with a knife on a busy street, just to protect me.  I find that very difficult to believe.”

Sophie’s eyes slide away from hers.

“I don’t think you really wanted to do any of it,” Hardy says softly, almost purring.  “What would happen, Sophie?  When you wavered, did you call Claire and she’d reel you back in?  Convince you I was a dangerous man and had to be stopped?”

She refuses to look at him.

“She did, didn’t she?” Miller says, and now her voice is as gentle as his.

Sophie doesn’t answer.

Hardy and Miller exchange glances, then Hardy says, “Who came up with the plan, Sophie?  Was it Claire?”

Sophie blinks rapidly and shakes her head.  “I had nothing, was nothing, until I met him. Then you took him away, and I was back to nothing again.  That’s when I knew what to do:  I’d become nothing in your eyes, too, and that would let me do whatever I wanted.”  Now she looks at him and there’s a sad, rueful twist to her lips.  “How often do you notice the person who empties your garbage or cleans the hall in your apartment building?  How often do you recognize the person who serves you drinks when they’re not behind a bar?  As far as you were concerned, I could stand right in front of you and your eyes would slide right over me, like I wasn’t even there.”

“But you weren’t sure your camouflage would work, were you?” Hardy says.  “That’s why you never let me see you in the station, turning away whenever I came close.  Same at the flat.  Except for the pub.”

“Well, I was the bartender,” she says with a shrug.

“You wanted me to figure out it was you, didn’t you?” he says.  “That’s why,” he opens the folder in front of him and slides over the picture of him and Missy at the pub table, “you put this picture in with the others.  You knew there’d be a point when I’d realize there was only place and one direction from which this could have been taken.”

She shakes her head.  “I didn’t think you’d realize it was me.  Anyone standing at the bar could have taken that picture.  I didn’t expect you to figure it out like that, right there and then.  I just couldn’t think fast enough.”

Hardy’s lips twitch into a slight smile.  “We both know that’s not true, Sophie.  I think you were tired of it all and wanted it to stop just as much as I did.”

She presses her lips into a tight line and looks away.  “I’m done talking,” she mutters.

* * * * *

Ellie

Sophie’s escorted back to her cell and Hardy and Ellie watch until she turns a corner down the hall.  Ellie looks at him and her jaw sags at the expression on his face.

“You feel sorry for her!” she says.

He slightly tilts his head.  “She was manipulated.  Claire has a true talent for that, working on people’s vulnerabilities, getting them to do things they wouldn’t normally do.  I certainly wasn’t immune.”

Ellie has a sudden memory of the men she and Claire had met at the bar in Weymouth and grimaces.  “Yes, she does,” she says.

“And there’s poor Sophie.  Desperately in love with Lee, pining for him, dreaming of making a life with him, and then he’s arrested for murder, and everything shatters, and she can’t—won’t—believe the truth.”  He shakes his head.  “She didn’t stand a chance.”

“Can we prove anything about Claire?”

He shrugs.  “That’s up to the prosecutors to determine, but I doubt it.  Oh, the conversations are manipulative and misleading and most of what she says is outright lies, but nowhere does Claire ever _tell_ Sophie to do anything.  She just...stokes the fire, so to speak.”

Ellie shudders.  “I’m glad Claire’s behind bars.”

“Me, too.”

Ellie frowns.  “Just one thing’s bothering me.”

He raises an eyebrow in question.

“Who’s ‘they’?”

He shrugs.  “Claire and Lee, most likely, at least according to Claire.”

Ellie nods but her frown doesn’t fade.  “Not Joe?”

“No evidence that Sophie and Joe even know about each other.”

“Right.”  She smooths away her frown.  “Ready to go?”

* * * * *

They return to the squad room where they find Jake leaning against Hardy’s office door, arms crossed, blocking the way inside.

“You are not getting in here and getting distracted by work,” he snaps.

“I’m fine,” Hardy growls and Ellie rolls her eyes.

“The last thing any of us want is you opening up your stitches while you’re in your office,” Jake says.  “Our cleaners are short-staffed and blood is a bitch to get out of this carpet.”

Hardy’s eyes widen then he smirks.  “Awright,” he says.  “I’m going to be gone a week, but I want all the files sent to me and I want to be called if anything breaks on the South Coast Killer case.”

Jake nods briskly.  “I’ve already got Tess on the way to cover off on the task force.  Don’t even think about coming back until a week from Monday, and if you need more time, just call.  We can carry things here.”

Hardy glances at his team and nods, and grumbles to Ellie all the way out of the station about how he’s more than fit enough to work and doesn’t really need any time away.

* * * * *

He sleeps all the way to Broadchurch.

* * * * *

Ellie’s heart breaks a little at Fred’s passionate disappointment when she catches him before he can throw himself against Hardy.  She holds and comforts him as he noisily protests, explaining to him that Uncle Alec has a sore tummy and can’t play right now.  Hardy ruffles his hair and kisses his cheek and carefully puts his arms around both of them.

“Take it easy on me, mate, for a wee while,” Hardy says.

Fred stares for a long moment with solemn tear-filled eyes then throws his arms around Hardy’s neck and kisses his cheek, and Ellie’s heart flips at the love in Hardy’s eyes as he looks at her son.

* * * * *

Hardy

Hardy wakes first the next morning, as usual, and bites back a groan as he gingerly gets out of bed, thankfully without waking Miller, and creeps downstairs.

He’s grumpily waiting for the water to boil when Tom shuffles, yawning, into the kitchen.

They grumble ‘morning’ at each other and Hardy reaches for another cup without thinking, and winces as his stitches pull.

“Does it hurt a lot?” Tom asks.

“When it happened, yah,” Hardy says.  “It’s not too bad now, so long as I don’t do anything stupid, like move too suddenly or stretch too far.”

“Oh.  Good,” Tom mumbles.

Hardy gives him a thoughtful look as he makes their tea and carries it to the table.  He sits and says, “I haven’t asked you how you feel about your mum and me.”

Tom shrugs.  “As long as Mum’s happy.”

“But are _you_ happy, Tom?  I questioned you about Danny’s death.  I arrested your dad.  Now here I am, with your mother.  That’s got to be a lot to deal with.”

“Not really.  I’ve been living with your daughter for months, after all,” Tom shrugs.

Hardy blinks, thinking he hadn’t expected to hear those words for at least another five years and shakes off a sudden urge to laugh.

“Has she been softening you up about me then?”

“Na, it just means I’ve got used to having you around.”

Hardy carefully leans back in his chair and thoughtfully sips his tea.  “Good enough,” he says.

Tom gives him a small smile, nods, and sips his own tea.

* * * * *

Ellie

There’s a steady trickle of visitors over the weekend once word gets out about what happened and that Hardy’s in town to recuperate.  Ellie can’t help but smile at his appalled bemusement as one visitor leaves only to be replaced by two more, only to be replaced by someone else. 

Monday is the first day of summer holidays for Tom and Daisy, and Ellie goes to work feeling vaguely worried, wondering how she’s going to make things work with Hardy once they’re back to only seeing each other on weekends before she shakes her head with puzzled disgust, telling herself there’s nothing to worry about.

He’s alive, Sophie’s behind bars, and between them, they’d figure things out.  Besides, they aren’t twenty, and she isn’t Tess and he isn’t Joe.  She frowns as she pulls into the parking lot and gets out of the car.  Joe’s not a good comparison.  She thinks of Beth and Mark and nods.  He isn’t Mark, either.  She thinks they’ll make it, even if they’re living in different towns.

Although maybe she’ll look into renting that little blue shack so they have a place to go that’s just for the two of them.  After all, morning sex in the kitchen is well-nigh impossible with three kids needing breakfast.

She blushes at the thought and gives a slightly embarrassed smile to her DSs as she walks towards her office and hopes nobody asks what she’s thinking about.

* * * * *

Hardy

The week drifts by.

Daisy leaves early every morning to put the final touches on the stage dressing for the play that’s going to be performed on Friday.  Miller goes to work and takes Fred to the child-minder’s since Hardy can’t lift the wee boy, and Tom goes to football camp each day.  The camp’s only for the first week, then he’s free for the rest of his holidays, while Daisy starts work at Traders on Monday.

Hardy, to his disgust, is grateful to spend Monday and Tuesday dozing on the sofa, feeling as weak as a kitten and about as useful.  While the cut isn’t deep enough to cause major damage, it’s still sore enough to make it difficult to do much.

It makes him restless and growly and on Wednesday as one by one the others leave and he’s finally alone, he decides enough with the invalid horseshit.  He showers, puts on fresh bandages and clean clothes, and makes his way to Miller’s home office to check in with Stonebridge and do some bloody work.

* * * * *

He’s still working when Miller comes home that evening and finds him.  She leans against the door jamb, arms crossed, a stern look on her face.  He blinks owlishly from behind his glasses and says, “Don’t start, Miller.”

She rolls her eyes.  “Unbelievable.”  She walks into the room and gives him a quick kiss.  “Daisy and Tom will be home soon, and then I’m off to pick up Fred.  Try to be done by then, yah?”

He quirks a half-smile and nods, then tugs her down for a slower, deeper kiss.

* * * * *

To Hardy’s surprise, Murray arrives on Thursday evening, his voice booming through the house as he greets Miller at the door, lifts Daisy into a bear hug, grips Tom’s hand in a crushing handshake, and gives Fred a much more gentle handshake that leaves his chubby face wreathed in smiles.

Hardy watches all this from where he’s standing in the hallway, hands on hips.

“What are you doing here?” he says.

“Hardy!” Miller chides but Murray laughs.

“Your sweet Daisy invited her Uncle Murray to come watch her play.  I thought, I’ve never been to Broadchurch, so why not.”

Daisy grins.  “I’ll tell you which bits I built and painted after the play, Uncle Murray,” she says.

“I already know which ones,” he says and grins at Hardy.  “Do you?”

“Aye,” Hardy says promptly, “the best ones.”

Daisy rolls her eyes.  “You’re so soppy, Dad.”

* * * * *

Miller invites Lucy and Ollie for dinner and Murray, never one to ignore a beautiful woman, flirts with gusto with both sisters, much to their enjoyment and Ollie and Tom’s appalled disbelief.

To save the boys’ sanity, Hardy takes Murray for a walk along the cliffs and then to the beach.

They stand beneath the magnificent orange cliffs, watching the waves roll in and Hardy says, “Why are you really here?”

“To check up on you, laddie.  You seem to have a penchant for getting stabbed.”

“Twice, Murray.  Just twice.”

“Twice is more than I’ve ever experienced, and twice more than I ever plan to experience.  You need to stop getting in the way of those bloody things.”

Hardy slides him an amused look.  “I’ll do my best, just because you’ve asked so nicely.”

“Glad you’re still listening to your old partner.”

They watch the ocean in silence, then Murray says, “I’m starting to look for a village of my own.  I wouldn’t mind getting out of London, now that I’m retired off the force.  I start my first cold case next month in York.”

“So why start looking at Broadchurch?”

“Well, I’m not going to settle in bloody York!  Besides, I can work from anywhere, really, and it’s always good to stay close to those who owe you favours.  Now that I’ve been here, I find I rather like the scenery and I’m not talking about the cliffs or the ocean view.”

Murray gives him a broad grin and winks.

Hardy stares at him with dawning horror.  “Oi.”

* * * * *

Tess arrives in time for Daisy’s play, takes one look at Hardy’s face and says, “For God’s sake, Alec, this is the first time I’ve seen Daisy in months, and I’m not squandering it by talking to you about work.”

He glowers, then shrugs.  “Fine.”

* * * * *

Every seat in the small theatre is filled, and the play is surprisingly good, considering it’s put on by a group of students pulled together over the last few months to do it for extra school credit.  As they stand chatting on the street afterwards, Beth tells them half the proceeds from the play are going to Danny’s charity that’s being officially launched the next day with a small press conference on the beach where Danny was found.

“Ten o’clock,” she reminds them with a sad smile.  “Don’t be late.”

* * * * *

There’s a respectable crowd to listen to Beth Latimer announce the Daniel Latimer Foundation, a charity to support youth shelters and other safe places for children and teenagers, places they can go to when they feel they have nowhere and no one else.

Paul Coates stands beside her with Mark on her other side.  Miller had told Hardy on the way to the beach that although Beth and Mark are going forward with a divorce, they’re doing their best to stay cordial for their living children’s well-being, and in honour of Danny’s memory.

He feels a wave of empathy for the estranged couple and glances over at Tess and Daisy, but his attention is caught by the figure he sees behind them.  His eyes widen, then he turns to Miller and says, “Shawn Buchanan is standing on the other side of Tess and Daisy.”

She turns sharply to stare at him.  “What?” she hisses.

He gives a subtle tilt of his head in Shawn’s direction.  She leans round him and takes a look.

“Oh my God,” she breathes.

* * * * *

Once the press conference is over, they send Murray to distract Tess and Daisy and make their way towards Shawn.

Shawn notices them and bows his head, watching them from the corners of his eyes.

“Shawn?” Hardy growls.  “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“Reverend Paul invited all of us who work at the Shelters of Hope,” Shawn says, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.  “I had the day off, and I’d never been to Broadchurch.  Thought I’d take a holiday.”  He slides a look Hardy’s way, and Hardy’s blood runs cold, because Shawn’s eyes aren’t nervous. 

They’re almost amused. 

“Is that a crime, DI Hardy?”

Hardy holds his gaze without wavering.  “You tell me,” he says.

A small smile curves Shawn’s lips as he keeps his head bowed as he turns away.  “I’ll see you both around.”

They watch him walk away and Miller shudders.

“If he’s not the South Coast Killer, then he ought to be,” she mutters.

* * * * *

Ellie

Hardy’s still moving gingerly when he stalks ahead of Ellie into the South Coast Killer war room on Monday morning and stops short at the sight of Dave and Tess talking with Sal and Webster in front of one of the murder boards.

“Really?” he demands.

Tess rolls her eyes and Dave smirks while Sal gives him a welcoming grin.  “How are you feeling, sir?” Sal says.

“Fine,” he growls.  “Anything new?”

Webster sighs.  “No, sir.”

He scowls, hands on his hips.  “Right.  Well, get Shawn Buchanan back in here for another interview—”

“I still can’t believe you think he’s a viable suspect,” Dave says.  “He’s just a nothing kid.”

There’s a sudden hush in the room that causes Dave to look around with a mildly curious, confused face.

“You know Shawn Buchanan?” Hardy says, his voice dangerously soft.

“Of course.  I had a chat with him in Sandbrook weeks ago and immediately eliminated him as a suspect.  Didn’t even need to do a formal interview.  He was almost in tears just from waiting in the hallway!” He snorts.  “He’s no serial killer.  Besides, just look at him!  A sharp breeze would snap him in half.  Is he even strong enough to transport the bodies?”

“He’s the only man in the shelters who’s been in the same location as every victim,” Hardy says flatly.  “ _Every_ victim, Dave.”

“Oh, please—he’s just a skinny, nothing kid and not too bright, at that!”  Dave frowns suddenly.  “Wait—e _very_ location?  _Every_ time?”

Hardy nods, lips curled with contempt.

Dave frowns.  “I don’t think I had that information,” he mutters and pulls out his notebook and begins flipping through it.

Hardy rolls his eyes and turns away.  “It doesn’t matter.  Shawn Buchanan was overlooked, but we’re looking at him now.”

* * * * *

Tess and Dave return to Sandbrook the next morning, and no one is sorry to see them go.

“They’re all right, I suppose,” Sal mutters to Ellie as they watch them leave the squad room, “but I’m glad Hardy’s back.”

“Really?” Ellie asks skeptically.

Sal grins.  “You’ve got to admit, he livens things up.”

Ellie agrees with a rueful grimace.

* * * * *

She and Hardy go to the pub on Wednesday night but Missy doesn’t arrive.  They’re walking back to where she’d parked the car, in the opposite direction of where he’d been stabbed because neither of them can yet bear to walk past it, when Hardy’s phone rings.

He looks at it.  “Webster,” he tells her and takes the call.  “What?”

The slight smile he’s had on his face as he strolls beside her is instantaneously wiped away.  “Missy’s _where_?”

* * * * *

They run to the car, and Hardy’s pale and sweating, doubled over with one hand pressed to his abdomen by the time Ellie squeals out of the parking spot.  He briefs her as she drives:  Missy had seen a woman go into the shelter the night before and not come out.  She went in tonight to take a look around.  She’d just called Webster, telling him she thought she’d found something when Webster heard her cry out and the phone went dead.  Webster and Sal along with backup and ambulances are on their way to the shelter now.

“Why did she call him?” Ellie asks as they pull up to the shelter.

“Believe me, I’ll be asking,” Hardy growls, and is out of the car before they’ve come to a complete stop.  Ellie grits her teeth and turns off the car.  Sal and Webster pull in as she opens her door and they run to the shelter together.

She hears the screams as soon as she sets foot in the door.

* * * * *

Hardy

Hardy follows the screams to the kitchen and into the basement.  There he finds an open square in the floor.  He shouts for Missy, then jumps into the sub-basement and is almost immediately knocked back by Shawn hurtling into him with a bone-jarring tackle.  Hardy goes down, grabbing at his attacker, taking him with him.  He vaguely notices the searing pain as his stitches give way, but he’s too busy grappling with the other man, unable to tell in the dim light and the confusion if Shawn is armed, if there’s another exit, where any of the others may be, and what it meant now that the screams have stopped.

Shawn is eerily silent, his lips drawn back, teeth bared, as he tries to get his hands around Hardy’s throat, and Hardy’s blood runs cold as he slams a fist into Shawn’s cheek making his head snap back, and then Miller, Sal and Webster are grabbing Shawn and yanking him off, leaving Hardy gasping and trying to ignore the pain in his stomach.  Hardy sees Webster handcuffing the other man to a steel pipe anchored solidly in the wall as he forces himself to his feet, his shirt sticking to the blood trickling down his stomach, and hurries after Miller and Sal as they explore the dark corners of the sub-basement, searching and calling for Missy and the unknown woman she’d been trying to rescue.  He sees the open door the same moment they do and rushes through after them.

He steps into a chamber of horrors, and Hardy takes in the bright red splotches on the walls and ceilings before he focuses on the bed with a filigree headboard, upon which is a spread-eagled bloody woman, her hands and feet bound to each corner with Sal bent over her, checking for signs of life.  He looks to his left and sees Miller kneeling beside the crumpled figure of another woman and he realizes it’s Missy just as he finally hears, muffled, the sound of sirens.

He turns to Webster who’d just skidded to a halt behind him.  “Go.  Direct them down here, and call for more ambulances if they haven’t brought enough.”

Webster nods and runs back the way they’d come.

“Tell them to hurry—this one’s alive!” Sal screams over her shoulder.

“So’s this one!” Miller shouts, and Hardy goes limp with relief.

“Who needs me?” he says.

“Me, sir,” Sal says, and he hurries to her side, where they work on the thankfully-unconscious woman until the paramedics arrive.

* * * * *

Ellie

As the women are loaded into an ambulance, Ellie listens as Webster explains to a wide-eyed, angrily vibrating Hardy that Missy was Webster’s paid informant, and in Hardy’s absence, they’d agreed that the next time she noticed a woman hadn’t returned from the shelter, she’d go in after her.  She just wasn’t supposed to get caught.

Hardy’s face twists with furious contempt as he tells Webster to go away, then tells Ellie he needs one of those paramedics himself and sags to sit on the curb.

Hardy gets his re-opened stomach wound photographed and documented to explain why his blood will be found mixed with the other evidence in the killing room, but even with that contamination, they all know it’s going to be a treasure trove of physical evidence.  While the results of the forensic tests are weeks in the future, Ellie has faith they’ll find enough DNA to link Shawn to all of the Stonebridge victims:  the two survivors, Desiree Blair and Missy George, and the five murdered women:  Rolanda Cunningham, Patricia Randall, Laura Drysdale, Patti Johnson, and Marney.

The other police territories with victims begin searching the shelters in their cities, but Shawn refuses to admit to anything outside of Stonebridge, although he confesses to those readily enough.  He has no room for denial, really, Ellie thinks with disgust.

He tells his story in a flat voice, his eyes as soulless as a shark’s, reflecting the emptiness within him where humanity should be.  Ellie struggles to hide her horror as she watches and listens, because she knows, truly _knows_ , she’s sitting across from a killing machine that happens to wear a human face.

His confession takes several days, with the four of them—her and Hardy and Sal and Webster—rotating in and out of the interview room.  In the end, they’re all drained, and they end up at Hardy’s flat with beer and scotch and a burning desire to cry or scream or to take Shawn Buchanan out and do to him what he’d done to all those poor women.

Instead they sit, mostly silent, with Webster drinking steadily until Sal takes him home.  Hardy and Ellie crawl into bed and she curls into his uninjured side, and weeps for all the lost lives that had already been so tragic, and didn’t deserve to end the way they had.

Hardy silently presses his lips against the crown of her head and hugs her close.

* * * * *

Hardy

It’s Monday morning by the time they finish the paperwork and Hardy sends a reluctant Miller home to Broadchurch.  He kisses her good-bye in the parking lot, wishing he could hold her as tightly as he wants, wishing he didn’t have to send her back alone.  He settles for kissing her again, telling her he’ll see her on Friday when he gets to Broadchurch and that he loves her.  Her ‘I love you too’ sinks into him like a raindrop on parched ground.

He watches until the car is out of sight, then returns to the station and goes to see Jake.

“Good work on this, Hardy,” he says.

“It was a team effort.”

“Hm.  Do you stand by Webster’s actions, to send an untrained civilian into a potentially dangerous situation without backup?”

Hardy stares impassively at him.  “He’s my DS.  He’s on my team.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

Hardy’s expression doesn’t change.

“Or maybe it does,” the other man says and smiles a little.  He leans forward, hands loosely clasped and resting on his desk.  “Webster got lucky this time.  Both those women are going to survive, and we managed to catch a dangerous predator in the act.  But any more half-arsed ideas like that one and he’s off the force.”  He leans back.  “Tell him that.”

* * * * *

Hardy does tell him, at high volume and with several colourful curses that has everyone outside his closed office raising eyebrows, making notes, and wondering if he’s going to burst his stitches for a second time.  Sal presses her lips together and keeps her eyes on her desk.

Webster’s pale and shaken but to his credit he doesn’t flinch or argue.

Hardy glares, hands on hips, and growls more quietly, “You got lucky, Webster, and what you and Missy did saved that woman’s life and the lives of God knows how many other women.  But it was stupid and reckless and could have ended with Missy and Desiree dead, and Shawn Buchanan in the wind.”

Webster clears his throat.  “I understand.  I thought it was a risk worth taking.”

“Maybe, if it had been done right, with the Stonebridge constabulary’s full back up and support to nip any dangerous situation in the bud.  It should never have gone as it did.  We have procedures and protocols for a reason.”

“You didn’t follow them with Sandbrook,” Webster says with a flash of his usual arrogance.

“That was different.  I had no other choice.”

“Did _we_?”

Hardy scowls.  “Go away, Webster, and be bloody grateful it worked.”

* * * * *

Hardy walks into the hospital room to find Missy, looking battered and sore, watching telly and reading a magazine.  She flinches, startled and nervous, but she quickly relaxes when she recognizes him.

“‘Bout time you showed up, Scotty,” she says, “Ellie’s been here every day since I got here.”

He rolls his eyes.  “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been hit over the head.”

“Well, that’s good, since that’s exactly what happened.”

“That and a few other things,” she says and grimaces.

He glowers.  “You are a very stupid young woman.”

“Is that all the thanks I get?”

“After I told you how many times not to attract the killer’s attention?  Aye.  You’re also a very brave young woman, and you saved Desiree’s life and who knows who else.  You’ll be the media’s darling for the next little while, and if you ever decide to actually listen to me, you’ll take advantage of the attention for all you’re worth.”

She smiles and winces as her swollen face protests.  “Get a little nest egg for my retirement?”

“ _Something_ good should come out of all this, don’t you think?”

“What about you, Hardy?  What are you going to do?”

He shrugs. “What I always do.  I’m going to move on to the next case.”

* * * * *

Sal knocks on Hardy’s office door on Friday morning and he frowns at the expression on her face, raising an eyebrow in question.

“I know you’ll be leaving soon to catch the train to Broadchurch,” she says, “but there’s someone here I think you need to talk to.”

* * * * *

The man is in his late twenties, pale beneath his dark tan, his pleasantly attractive face pinched with worry and barely contained fear.

He glances from Sal to Hardy and back again.

“I’m Chris Turner.  I reported my ex-wife missing earlier this week.”

“I reviewed the report,” Sal says quickly, “and asked him to come in.”

Hardy feels a churning in his stomach because he now knows where this is going.

“What’s your ex-wife’s name?” he asks.

“Marney Sullivan.”

Hardy swallows.  “Description?  Occupation?  Any distinguishing marks?”

“Twenty-six, five feet five inches tall, brown hair, blue eyes, about a hundred—hundred ten pounds.  She...” Chris’ mouth twists then straightens.  “She’s been working as a street prostitute for the last three years.”  He shrugs helplessly.  “Drug habit.  She has a dragon tattoo on her right hip.”

Hardy listens, eyes wide, then he pulls out his wallet and removes the small copy of the picture they’d found in Marney’s room.

“Is this her?” he asks and hands it over.

Chris looks at it then back at him with a puzzled frown.  “Yes.  Why do you have it in your wallet?”

Hardy leans forward, hands clasped as he rests them on the table.  “Marney was found murdered on December 3rd.”  He ignores Chris’ hissed, indrawn breath.  “That’s almost eight months ago.  Why have you only just come forward now to report her missing?”

Chris’ eyes are huge, his skin a sickly shade of green beneath the tan.  “I’ve been in Australia since late August.  My company sent me out there on a one-year assignment, to set up a new subsidiary.  Things went better than expected and we—me and our daughter—got back a month early, the beginning of July.”  His throat works as he swallows, staring at her picture.  “She didn’t have a computer but we sent notes and postcards and pictures to her post office box.  I didn’t really expect to hear from her.  Too much time and effort taken away from getting to her next high.”  He closes his eyes and grimaces.  “When I couldn’t find her over the last couple of weeks, I came here.”  He lifts tear-filled eyes to Hardy and Sal.  “I always knew one of those punters would kill her one day,” he says bitterly. “I read the news.”

They sit in a heavy silence that’s broken only by Chris’ sniffling.  Sal pushes the tissues closer to him and he grabs some with a grateful look at her. 

He wipes his nose, blinks and looks up at Hardy.  “Why was this in your wallet?”

“As far as we know, the man who killed her wasn’t one of her clients.  Marney was the victim of a serial killer.  We hadn’t been able to identify her, to notify her family.  Her picture reminded me that I...owed her, that I still needed to make sure she got justice and her family got some closure.”

Chris’ face crumples then straightens.  “Thank you.”  He looks at the picture.  “What am I supposed to tell our daughter now?”

“That her mother loved her,” Hardy says promptly.  “When she’s old enough, tell her that the only personal thing Marney had was that picture, beside her bed where it was the first thing she saw in the morning and the last thing she saw at night.  Tell her that no matter her struggles or the addictions that controlled her...she loved her daughter.”

* * * * *

Before he leaves for the weekend, he pauses in the squad room and surveys his team.

Conversations slowly end and silence descends as they all turn to look at him with curious eyes.

“You all did good work on the South Coast Killer case,” he says.  “Well done.”  He hesitates, shrugs rather helplessly and says, “See you on Monday.”

* * * * *

Ellie

Ellie meets him at the train station and is grateful he decided not to drive.  He’s blinking sleepily, still moving gingerly, and she hopes he managed to get some sleep on the way down.

He catches sight of her and his face lights up, and she grins as she hurries to meet him.

She doesn’t care who’s watching as she pulls his face to hers and kisses him, channelling how much she’d missed him over the last week into it.

She pulls back, grinning at his wide-eyed expression.  “Come on,” she says, “there’s a houseful of people waiting for you.”

He instantly looks hunted.  “Miller!”

“Stop whining,” she says as she grabs his hand and starts towards the exit.  “I’ve left Sunday afternoon free so you can rest.”

“Ah, _Miller!_ ”

They walk into the bright sun, and she grins over her shoulder, laughing at his grumpy scowl.

“I love you, Hardy,” she says, overly sweet, and he pulls her to a stop.

“I don’t know why, but I love you, too,” he growls, and kisses her again.

* * * * *

Epilogue

_I’m thinking ‘bout how people fall in love in mysterious ways_

_Maybe just the touch of a hand_

_..._

_I’m thinking out loud_

_Maybe we found love right where we are._

-  _Thinking Out Loud_  - Ed Sheeran

* * * * *

Hardy takes the train again the following weekend, but Miller’s caught at the station and can’t meet him.

He flags down a taxi and tosses his duffel bag on the back seat.  He opens the front door and the driver says, “Where to, then, sir?”

Hardy pauses and looks towards the town.  He looks in the direction of the ocean even though he can’t see it from here, and smiles as he gets into the car.

“Home,” he says.  “Take me home.”

# # #

 


	15. Author's Notes

Like most (all) of us, I screamed when the screen went black, with poor Alec Hardy all alone and pondering “where to, then, sir”.  I screamed again (this time with joy) when the station said, “find out in series 3”.  However, I just couldn’t wait, so set out to write a version of series 3...which I didn’t really expect anybody to read. 

O.O

This is the first story with a real “mystery” plot that I’ve ever written, and of course, I had to put in two of them...*facepalm*  It’s hurt my head—a lot! I’ve been amazed at the feedback and investment from everyone and overwhelmed with the response.  I’m not sure if the story lived up to expectations, but I’m incredibly honoured you all decided to come along for the ride.

The Story - General

  1. This story was supposed to be (at most) eight chapters long, plus a prologue and an epilogue with short chapters and minimal dialogue. 
  2. The serial killer was intended solely as the MacGuffin that brings Hardy and Miller back into each other’s orbits.
  3. The stalker was supposed to be someone who noticed Hardy as a result of his mild notoriety (“Worst Cop in Britain” anyone?) and became obsessed with him.
  4. The epilogue was supposed to be a whole lot longer.



...I have no idea what happened...

The disadvantage of posting-while-you’re-writing, of course, is that as the story evolves, there’s no opportunity to go back and smooth out bumps and changes in direction.  For example, Hardy was supposed to be attacked at Daisy’s play but when it came time for that scene to happen, it didn’t flow properly, plus I had the potential of derailing the story by re-traumatizing everyone in Broadchurch (again).  So I built up Daisy’s play…without the pay-off that I’d originally intended to have with it.  

If I had waited to begin posting until the entire story had been written, that’s something I’d be editing to smooth the story out.

On the other hand, there may now be a sequel and/or some bonus scenes because of a few of those story bumps so...not all bad, right?  :)

The South Coast Killer

I watch far too many true crime documentaries.

The idea of a serial killer operating over a large geographic area is, unfortunately, based on real cases.  There’s the I95 killer in the United States, for example, and here in Canada, we have the Highway of Tears.  The Highway of Tears is an 800 km stretch of highway in British Columbia where one or more serial killers have been working for decades, with the number of murdered or missing women is anywhere from 18 to into the 40s.  The area is so dangerous, there are/have been signs all along the highway warning women not to hitchhike.  They did catch one guy and identified another man as a possible perpetrator (he’s now dead) but as far as I know, they haven’t managed to solve all of the murders/disappearances.

One of the things that have always struck me about serial killers is how insignificant they seem when they’re finally revealed.  If you’ve ever seen pictures of Gary Ridgway, aka the Green River Killer, then you’ll know exactly what I mean.  It’s why they’re so successful, I suppose:  the fact that they seem so harmless.  I wanted my killer to be just like that:  the floating log that turns into an alligator; the hidden tiger before it pounces; the guy you’d never consider dangerous...until he is.

While I let Hardy and Miller immediately see the predator beneath Shawn Buchanan’s benign surface, I can only wish it worked that way in real life.

Claire

Claire’s manipulation of Sophie is inspired in part by the fact that Claire is just a manipulative character, and in part by the real life drama surrounding Jodi Arias, a woman in Arizona who was convicted of the 2008 murder of her friend-with-benefits.

Her trial was in 2013 and she was on the stand for eighteen days in her own defense.  I was fascinated by her obvious—and clumsy—attempts to manipulate the facts and the jury’s emotions while she threw everything—and I mean _everything_ —at the victim in order to discredit him, with no proof to support any of the claims other than ‘because she said so’.  Unfortunately, she has a legion of fans who believe her stories without question.

She was recently sentenced to life without parole in Arizona (after escaping the death penalty by one juror).  Her jail privileges were revoked for a time because she was caught on video phone (apparently) telling two fifteen-year-old female ‘fans’ how to steal their parents’ credit cards so they could continue calling her against their parents’ wishes.  Another fan was arrested on his way to (allegedly) murder Nancy Grace from HLN because...Nancy Grace didn’t like Jodi Arias.  (I’m over-simplifying—a lot.)

When the stalker portion of the story evolved into what it became, the idea of Claire convincing Sophie that Hardy is a really bad guy and deserves to be punished didn’t seem that far-fetched.

I won’t get into the women who fall in love with and marry convicted serial killers and are completely convinced of their innocence...

(On another note:  if you want to see a star prosecutor in action (Chibnall!), watch Juan Martinez during the Jodi Arias murder trial.  He questioned and cross-examined all of the witnesses and made his opening/closing arguments… _without notes_ and with no other lawyer to help him.  Jocelyn Knight doesn’t even come close.)

The Title

The title comes from the song _Against All Odds_ by Phil Collins (one of my favourite songs):

_So take a look at me now, oh there’s just an empty space_

_And there’s nothing left here to remind me_

_Just the memory of your face_

_Oh take a look at me now, well there’s just an empty space_

_And you coming back to me is against all odds and that’s what I’ve got to face._

There’s a beautiful Alec/Ellie video on YouTube set to this song, and you should go watch if you haven’t seen it already.

* * * * *

And so this particular journey comes to an end.  I’m actually feeling pretty broken-hearted about it, because I’m going to miss writing this story and seeing what these two crazy kids are going to do next.

Which doesn’t mean I’m going to stop writing about them, just that the bulk of this particular story is finished.  As for me, I’m going to:

\- play on Tumblr again;

\- finally delve into all the fic I’ve been avoiding while writing this;

\- finish the novel that should have been published two months ago *whistles-avoids-eye-contact*;

\- write a few bonus scenes for this story;

\- maybe write a short (short, I tell myself, _short_!!) sequel;

\- start an entirely new Broadchurch fic (just had the idea last week) and see if it evolves into an actual story;

\- re-watch the series; and

\- fall in love with Alec and Ellie all over again.

 

Oh, and move to a cheaper place.

 

It’s going to be a busy summer...  ;D


	16. BONUS SCENES

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three little bonus scenes for this fic. They're not very long but I hope you enjoy. :)

_Bonus Scene 1:  Chapter Two – Just Before the Task Force Meeting_

Hardy

It’s a beehive of activity outside Hardy’s office as wee Sal and his other DSs hurriedly add last minute reports from SOCO to the information packets to be handed out at the task force meeting that’s starting in less than ten minutes.  Hardy barely notices as he pores over the case files one more time, hoping they haven’t made some dumb-arse mistake that will be immediately pointed out to them.  On the one hand that’s exactly what he hopes will happen, as it may then break the case wide open and they can catch the bastard.  On the other, he doesn’t want Sal or the rest of his team--even Webster--made to look like fools.

Not to mention his career wouldn’t survive another major fuck up.

He glances up as Sal bustles in.

“List of attendees, sir,” she says and hands him a piece of paper.

“Good turn-out?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at her as he leans back in his chair.  He begins to scan the page.

“Well, the room’s going to be full,” she says with a nervous smile.

He glances at her over his glasses.  “It’s just another case briefing.”

Sal gives him a wide-eyed look.  “They’re all DIs, sir, with about a million years’ experience between them!”

He shrugs, a smile tugging at his mouth.  “Still just another case briefing.”

He returns to the list of names.  Some he recognizes from their paths crossing over the years.  He nods at Tess’ name--she dropped Daisy off that morning--and can’t quite hide a sneer at Dave’s.  Beyond the fact he’d shagged Tess while she was still married to Hardy, he really is just a rubbish cop.

Hardy continues to skim the page until he trips over a particular name.

Ellie Miller.  Broadchurch.

His breath stops, his eyes widen, and he swears he hears his pacemaker kick into high gear as his heart starts pounding.

“Sir?  Sir!”

He looks at Sal, eyes wide, mouth slightly open.

“Are you all right?” she asks with a concerned frown.

He doesn’t answer as he abruptly pushes himself to his feet.  He grabs his suit jacket and pulls it on as he heads for the door.

“Where are you going?” Sal calls.

He’s too busy taking off his glasses, straightening his tie and running a hand through his hair to answer her before he rushes through the meeting room door and practically skids to a halt.

He sees her immediately, or rather the back of her and he drinks her in.  He notices the curly hair is a little longer, her suit jacket hanging a little looser round her shoulders.  He’s half-way to her before he realizes she’s talking to Tess and Dave.

He hears Tess saying, “...has only been active for the last eight or nine weeks then that substantially narrows the search focus.”

“We found the first body nine weeks ago, Tess,” he says, grateful to be handed a way into the conversation, “that’s not when we think he started.”

Miller spins round at his first word and if he wasn’t so worried he was going to muck this up, he’d be amused by her gaping mouth and wide eyes and the soft gobbling sounds she’s making as she tries to speak.

He knows he’s staring but he can’t help it and vaguely wonders if he looks as nervous as he feels.  She looks good, more rested than the last time he’d seen her, definitely a little thinner, her hair just as unruly and pinned back in her usual style.  He knows Tess is watching with a smugly amused yet irritated expression, but he doesn’t care.  He feels like he’s finally found something that had been lost for too long.

He wracks his brain for something else to say, and finally manages, “Miller.  Finally got that promotion, then, aye?”

That makes her gobble even more and he’s almost gleefully anticipating whatever smart-arse remark she’s going to finally force out of her mouth when he hears his name called.  He looks over his shoulder and sees Sal waving the updated info packet, and he nods.

“We’re starting,” he says.  He looks rather helplessly at Miller for an endless moment but is unable to think of anything else to say before he turns and heads to the front of the room.

There’s work that needs to be done.

*/*/*/*/*

_Bonus Scene 2:  Chapter Ten – On the Road to Stonebridge after the Snogging in the Hallway.  And the Kitchen._

Hardy

Hardy still has no idea what to do, but as he drives to Stonebridge he knows he has to do _something_.  Miller’s as skittish as a cat and he’s not much better, and they’re going to be interviewing Ricky and Lee and Claire tomorrow and they need to be on their game.

Which, he admits with a rueful twist to his lips, isn’t really what’s worrying him--it’s just the easiest one to explain.

She kissed him.  Then avoided him.  Then kissed him again...and avoided him again.

He doesn’t know if they’re grown adults or twelve, and he has no idea how or when Miller shifted from ‘not hugging you’ to snogging him in the hallway.  And the kitchen.

He knows he let his feelings show the night she ran back to Broadchurch, knows she saw it, knows that’s why she ran.  He doesn’t even blame her.  He’s a fucked up mess _and_ in love with her--he’d run too, if he could.  Which is why he’s confused by her kissing him now.  He’s still a fucked up mess and still in love with her but--he glances in the mirror at her car following behind his--she doesn’t seem to be running anymore.

His lips curve softly at the thought then he sobers.

He knows she almost likes him...most of the time, and at least enough to worry about him staying safe from his prankster.  But liking doesn’t mean...well, he’s still who he is, and judging from her married life, Miller wants somebody...not at all like him.  He strongly suspects Joe was the very model of supportive and sensitive and bloody good company, giving Miller exactly what she craved.  The fact that his behaviour hid a fundamental lie doesn’t change the fact Joe played the role--and played it perfectly--for years, giving Miller the perfect life and making her ecstatically happy as a result.

Hardy’s not going to make her happy—not like that.  Not the way she was before.  Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he’s never been one for sweet words and kind lies and endless patience.  The closest he’s ever come to that was when he listened to Miller the night he arrested Joe. 

Or when he was comforting Claire after her abortion, telling her everything would be all right.  Meaningless words but heartfelt compassion, given sincerely to a woman hiding a fundamental lie.

He shakes the memory of Claire away from him and returns to thinking about Miller and what he’s going to say when they get to the flat.

He needs to understand exactly what this weekend was about.  Maybe nothing, maybe something, and now that he has new evidence providing additional context, he thinks back to the strange looks she’s been giving him lately, the growing-ever-more-awkward tension between them, that look over her shoulder at the hotel the night Murray found the cameras and microphones in Hardy’s flat.

Maybe the snogging wasn’t quite as out of nowhere as it first appeared, he thinks, and his mouth curves into another smile, a wide one this time before he tempers his optimism with the caveat that she may be regretting it and is even now planning how to tell him it was all a mistake.  Even if she doesn’t tell him that, she’ll need time to get used to the idea of, well, whatever this might end up being, and he’s sure she’ll expect a certain amount of romance and—and—and _wooing_ on his part.

If it ever gets to that point.

He grips the wheel and chews nervously on his bottom lip.  He’s never been that great at the whole romance thing.  Or the wooing thing.  Or the dating thing.  He’s never really understood what people were supposed to _do_ on dates.  In a moment of sudden panic, he thinks he may have to ask someone--Sal or Murray or-- _God, no_ \--Webster--for advice.  Dinner, that he understands, but what are people supposed to do beyond that?

Well, at least he knows what _not_ to do.

He won’t be groping Miller in any parking lots without her permission.

*/*/*/*/*

_Bonus Scene Three – Chapter Eleven – Some Point before Hardy’s Attacked_

Ellie

To Ellie’s surprise, Hardy is far more sensual than she ever would have expected. 

He becomes almost boneless beneath her hands with all the hedonistic pleasure of a cat.  He relaxes while at the same time yearning towards her.  It’s an endlessly fascinating combination and she enjoys it almost as much as he does.  Her hands and mouth explore his body, trace the scar left by the surgical blade and the one left by a less benevolent knife, and his eyes drift closed as he smiles and hums, a low, husky, growling sound.

It makes her smile.

He purrs like a cat, too.

Even more than being touched, Hardy loves to touch her, constantly reaching out during the day to rest his fingertips on her shoulder or her arm, lightly, and always, she notices, hesitantly, as if half-expecting her to shrug him away the way she used to.  She doesn’t, of course, and if the situation allows it, she’ll instead lean closer to him.  When she does, she’s rewarded with a flashing glance that’s achingly vulnerable and grateful and amazed and _happy._   It makes her stomach flutter and she can’t stop herself from smiling at him.

It’s the night that truly surprises her, though, when he curls around her as if he’d like to absorb her into him.  He presses close, even in his sleep, his scruff lightly scratching against the nape of her neck, his breath ghosting across her skin.  His body, warm against her, makes her feel safe and she’ll sometimes roll over so she can hold him, easing the empty ache in her arms, and allowing her to feel his heart beating, strong and steady, against her.

*/*/*/*/*

Hardy

Almost better than the sex is the sheer pleasure of touching and being touched.  He’d been betrayed and alone in Broadchurch, close to dying and afraid with it.  Except for Daisy and medical staff and the odd comforting hand to a victim or colleague, Hardy hasn’t truly touched or been touched in almost three years.  More than that, really.  Tess had pulled away from him long before she was forced to admit her affair with Dave.  It’s been so long since he’s felt another person he almost doesn’t know if he feels pleasure or pain as Miller explores his body with her hands and mouth, and as he does the same to her.

When they’re not having sex, he feels an almost constant desire for contact, to fleetingly touch her arm or shoulder, to assure himself she’s really there and he’s _allowed_.  It helps ease the ache in his fingers and fills the hollow spaces within him.

At night he presses close and wraps around her, wanting to keep her safe, wishing he could erase her still-lingering pain.  He can’t, of course, and he doesn’t pretend he can.  When she turns and holds him so close he can feel her heart beating against him, steady and strong and true, he hopes she understands what he can’t find the words to say.

*/*/*/*/*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing/editing these bonus scenes made me remember why I dropped them in the first place (slowed the story; not quite in character; not quite the same tone as the rest of the chapter(s)). Some of the other scenes/ideas that didn't make it into this fic are going to inform other fic(s) and possibly the sequel to this one. :)


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